Curiosity
by daphnap
Summary: Hermoine loses her father in a horrible accident, and must return home to take care of her mother; meanwhile, Draco is haunted by his last encounter with Hermoine, and does everything in his power to take his mind off of the recently dispatched mudblood.
1. Waterstains

Title: Curiosity  
  
Rating: R language and sexuality…  
  
Spoilers: Books  
  
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….  
  
Summary: Hermoine loses her father in a horrible accident, and must return home to take care of her mother; meanwhile, Draco is haunted by his last encounter with Hermoine, and does everything in his power to take his mind off of the recently dispatched mudblood.  
  
A/N: This'll take me time, I'm writing it in AP Gov, (easier than notes, eh?)  
  
**  
  
That settled it.  
  
The bags were packed, the owl was sent and she was in her way…home.  
  
She was dropping out. She was not finishing school; she was a dropout loser whose final year would be taken at the community college back home.  
  
Dropping out from Hogwarts was surprisingly easy.  
  
Her mouth twisted into a sardonic grin. Her, of all people, Hermoine Granger, a dropout from Hogwarts.  
  
The Sylitherins would be amused, if not a little pleased.  
  
Top of the class.  
  
Valedictorian.  
  
Straight fives on all her NEWTs.  
  
My, how they would laugh.  
  
But she wouldn't be around, she made sure of it. When the owl had come with the note, telling her the news, she had packed that night, and all that was left was to shut the suitcase and go home. She hadn't told Ron, she hadn't told Harry. She would just leave and let Dumbledore sort out their questions. She didn't have the strength, nor the compunction to even attempt.  
  
She was tired, and she needed to go home and take care of her mum.  
  
For a moment she felt like laying down on her bed one last time, and just take a little nap, just to pretend that she would wake up the next morning and go to classes like usual; that she would turn in her homework that was done, that she would ace the test she had studied so long for; just to pretend that her mum wasn't dying and that her father wasn't dead; just to pretend.  
  
It would be nice.  
  
But no time for it. She snapped shut the suitcase and slipped it onto her shoulder. Her trunks were already waiting for her at the train station. It would be Hagrid who would row her across the river; he would be the last one to give her a hug goodbye and a tearful smile.  
  
She slipped into the hall quietly. Pavarati and Lavender were asleep and oblivious to her absence. She moved down the halls silently, barely breathing afraid of waking someone, anyone up. She had to get out of here before she would never be able to leave. The Fat Lady grudgingly let her through the door, threatening briefly to scream if Hermoine dared to run off. But even the Fat Lady let her through, finally, tearfully waving good- bye with a clasped handkerchief. It was hard.  
  
She had to.  
  
Hoping that Harry and Ron were not on one of their late-night invisible cloak endeavors, she practically ran down the halls, afraid that if she didn't move fast enough she couldn't escape. She had to leave; mum was waiting.  
  
Involved in her thoughts, unaware of her surroundings, she didn't notice the shadow ahead of her. She only paid notice after she stumbled, tripped and fell into it, a cry of indignation from both parties.  
  
"Bloody hell!" The shadow cursed, "What the fuck do you think you're doing you bloody-stupid mudblood?!?"  
  
She stared at him blankly, briefly cataloguing the fact that their limbs were tangled amongst each other. She did not cry.  
  
She just continued to stare at him, trying to place this blonde-haired boy of whom's legs she was unwittingly in between. She realized her hands were on his chest and her legs were tangled in his own, and that he was staring at her with a mix of anger and curiosity.  
  
Curiosity, she remembered in a non- sequitur sort of way, killed the cat.  
  
And before he could hurl any more insults towards her, she pushed up, and over him, grabbing her bag and disappearing down the hall.  
  
She had left him there, sprawled on the floor, his legs bent at an odd angle, himself, propped up on his elbows, without ever so much as a word. He looked back at the darkness from which she disappeared in and wondered, ever briefly, what he had missed.  
  
No sharp retort.  
  
No if-looks-could-kill.  
  
No nothing.  
  
Just blanked faced unfamiliarity.  
  
He didn't even compute on the scale that she was working on.  
  
And he was curious.  
  
He pushed himself up, straightened the kinks in his back, crooked his neck and went down the hall after her.  
  
Curiosity, he briefly recalled in a non- sequitur sort of way, killed the cat.  
  
**  
  
She was almost to the docks. After leaving Malfoy (She had placed the angry face to the cursed name) in an ungainly heap, she had prided herself for doing one last thing for Harry and Ron. They would have appreciated it, if they had known.  
  
She wouldn't tell them of course, they wouldn't get so much as a letter once she was gone.  
  
She was born from muggle parents, and soon (only another 15 hours) she would be just another muggle as well.  
  
Magic would be a thing for the movies; a witch would be just another replacement for a five-letter word. Robes replaced with jeans, wands replaced with the finger.  
  
About to turn the last corner that would take her to the docks, a foot snared the hem of her robe and a hand angrily pulled her back. Briefly, she wondered if it was Harry or Ron.  
  
Draco Malfoy shoved her against the wall, and held her arms at her sides with his hands. He studied her, his eyes as blank as her own, the gray irises following the lines of her face, the wrinkles of her disheveled robes from their previous encounter, and followed these lines down to her bag that lay limply at their feet. His curiosity got the better of him and he whispered angrily, "Didn't feel the need to apologize, did you mud- blood?"  
  
She didn't want to fight; didn't have the energy to think up a retort, witty or otherwise. "Sorry." She answered, looking just past his ear, studying the crack in the wall that traveled through the ancient brinks.  
  
He studied her some more, his fingers, if she had bothered to notice, digging painfully into her arms.  
  
"Mud blood." He said again, studying the laugh-lines around her tiny mouth, to see if they would react with more emotion than her eyes. They didn't quirk with anger or mirth.  
  
"Mud blood whore." He continued, without the biting tone that usually accompanied his words.  
  
She didn't blink.  
  
Neither did he.  
  
His fingers continued to dig trenches into her arms.  
  
"Mud blood." He tried again.  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Whore." He tried separately.  
  
The spot where her earlobe met her jaw did not react either.  
  
"Slut."  
  
"Bitch."  
  
"Cunt."  
  
Nothing. Didn't blink, didn't react, she continued to deconstruct the wall just past his ear.  
  
"Answer me!" He screamed at her, spittle landing just below her eye, like a tear.  
  
"Sorry." She whispered again.  
  
"Is that all the infamous Hermoine Granger can come up with?" He asked again, his voice bouncing off the walls. He was angry.  
  
She didn't meet his eyes. She saw her mum and dad though. She saw her mum back at the hospital, still hooked up to the regulator. She saw her dad's body on the metal table back at the coroner's office. The bruises on his face reminded her of the car accident. She wasn't there and she couldn't save them.  
  
Madam Pomfry had taught her the bone-mending spell one time after Harry got into a particularly bad scrape. She thought it would be best if one of the triumvirate would have some knowledge on how to mend the broken bones that the three of them got so often. If Hermoine has been with her father at the hospital when he died, she could have saved him. She could have fixed them. She remembers exactly what she had been doing at the time that her parents got into the accident. She was studying for her Potion's exam on a petrifying tincture that she was having trouble with.  
  
She could have…  
  
His fingers were lost in the folds of her shabby robe; beneath the velvet was just her bony arm, cold even through the fabric.  
  
Something in her eyes seemed to fade (if possible) and he suddenly found that his hands, gripping viciously into her skin, were the only things holding her up. Her body went limp, and he let her go. She slid against the wall until she came to a stop on the floor, she continued to stare ahead, not really seeing Malfoy crouch beside her to examine her some more.  
  
His eyes were still hard, still angry. He slapped her, once, twice, seeing if physical violence would do anything to snap her out of her reverie and get her to react, anything to get a rise out of her, anything to get her to acknowledge him.  
  
It worked.  
  
Her eyes flashed, something came back to them that wasn't there before and for some reason it made Malfoy happy.  
  
She slugged him.  
  
He fell back, clutching his face, and for a brief moment she stood over him, her hands still clenched into fists. She looked at him; she kicked him in the stomach, once, twice. She picked up her bags and walked over him and turned the corner.  
  
He lay on the floor of a Hogwart's hall for the second time that night; nursing a bruise caused by Hermoine Granger. This was different, though, this time, he didn't care. He got what he needed. Pushing himself up, brushing off his robes he headed back down the hall, away from Hermoine Granger and her problems.  
  
He had his bruise, she carried her own.  
  
Think of it, he looked back down the hall where the mudblood had disappeared, as a gift.  
  
**  
  
Hagrid met her at the docks. He helped her with her bag and helped her onto the boat. The ride was cold and rough and when she reached the other side she was completely soaked through. She was freezing, her teeth chattered, her skin was covered with goose bumps; but her cheek still burned from where he hit her.  
  
Where did he get off? She thought angrily (for the first time since the accident) as she shoved her bag into the NightBus that would take her to the station.  
  
She hugged Hagrid (as much as she could, she reached one of his legs still at 17) He tearfully helped her onto the bus and waved to her good-bye as the bus pulled away.  
  
Hermoine was livid.  
  
Pissed.  
  
Angry.  
  
Scratch that: Furious.  
  
Two hours and forty-three minutes after Draco Malfoy slapped her she came up with the perfect retort: "Draco Malfoy," she should have said, "Would you please go somewhere else and self-fornicate." She would have then pried his fingers from his arms, the fingers that made ten livid marks, and maybe she would have slapped him back, picked up her bags, stepped over his shocked pure-bread face and leave without another word.  
  
Her foot hurt where she kicked him in the stomach.  
  
The Night-Bus arrived at the station and she was packed off into a carriage that would carry her to the 9 ¾ station.  
  
The ride was 10 hours, and she spent the majority of it with her head against the windowpane, studying the tracks left by water at it condensed. She looked into the intricacies of the stains and found no comfort: just water and what it left behind.  
  
**  
  
A/N: Some of the names are spelled incorrectly, and I apologize, I will try to go back and fix them as soon as possible.  
  
R&R and I'll love you.  
  
Really.  
  
-dafnap 


	2. Love Letters

Title: Curiosity  
  
Rating: R language and sexuality…  
  
Spoilers: Books  
  
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….  
  
Summary: Hermoine has come home and has just begun to deal with what happened to her parents. As for Draco, much to his chagrin, he cannot get the mud blood out of his thoughts; so he does something about it.  
  
A/N: This'll take me time, I'm writing it in AP Gov, (easier than notes, eh?)  
  
  
  
**  
  
before  
  
**  
  
The Night-Bus arrived at the station and she was packed off into a carriage that would carry her to the 9 ¾ station.  
  
The ride was 10 hours, and she spent the majority of it with her head against the windowpane, studying the tracks left by water at it condensed. She looked into the intricacies of the stains and found no comfort: just water and what it left behind.  
  
**  
  
now  
  
**  
  
Draco Malfoy began his day as he usually did: waking up, scratching his balls and yawning. He stood up, stretched some more, threw on some robes and headed out to the main hall.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle were waiting for him outside the dining hall. They didn't handle mornings well, and both were still a little off, briefly tripping over their own feet while rubbing the sleep from their eyes. They followed (to the best of their abilities) Malfoy into the Dining Hall.  
  
Malfoy did something he did not usually do in the mornings, however. Before making his way to the usual Sylitherin table, he took the long-cut around the Gryfinndor table. Harry and Ron were already there, scarfing their face with pancakes and waffles. They were excitedly talking about quidditch (per usual), and the upcoming match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Ron, the newest bludger, was making swooping motions with his hands and talking animatedly how he would take down the Seeker.  
  
Malfoy sneered, they hadn't even noticed Hermoine's absence.  
  
Of all people, Malfoy thought, I would be the first to know.  
  
It was time to have a little fun.  
  
Sitting down in Hermoine's usual seat, he leaned in with an elbow and gave Harry and Ron a I-Know-Something-You-Don't-Know sneer.  
  
They looked back at him angrily.  
  
"Malfoy," Harry began, his voice trying (but failing miserably) to be civil, "You're in Hermoine's seat."  
  
"No I'm not." Malfoy answered back, his grin growing wider.  
  
Potty and Weasley glared at him with a mixture of anger and curiosity (killed the...). Ron, ever the excitable on stood up, his right hand already clenched into a fist.  
  
"Move, Malfoy, or I'll be forced to help you move."  
  
"You don't even know do you?" Malfoy laughed, "You two, the infamous Harry Potter and the poor-boy Ron Weasley have no idea."  
  
The curiosity was gone, and now there was just pissed-off anger, "Malfoy..." They both growled.  
  
Malfoy pushed himself up from the table, and held up his hands, "I'll leave you two then, don't bother telling the mud blood hello for me."  
  
"We weren't planning to."  
  
Before Malfoy walked away he looked over his shoulder and spoke (for the first time) in a tone that was something other than patronizing, something other than..."You won't have to," He told them, "Don't bother waiting for her."  
  
Ron practically launched himself over the table, held to the floor only by Harry's hand wrapped in is robes, "If you did anything to-"  
  
Malfoy walked back to his table and let them wait.  
  
The waffles were good, but the pancakes were missing something.  
  
**  
  
Coming home was easier than she had thought. Her bags were still in her room, still packed. Her trunks balanced precariously on her bed, open, the clothes inside still folded, still waiting for her to take them out.  
  
Her mother was still at the hospital, and she had to call a taxi to get her there the first night.  
  
Mum looked pale, a yellow tint had taken to her features, and she did not respond (not once) to the Hermoine as she sat there that night. She didn't open her eyes, did not squeeze her hand in comfort.  
  
Hermoine's dinner, her first non-magical kind since last summer, consisted of Ritz's crackers and shitty coffee. The crackers, surprisingly, were tasty; they crunched satisfyingly as she angrily munched on them.  
  
Where did he get off?  
  
The nurses forced her out of the hospital in the morning, telling her that she could come back the next day. They called for her a taxi and one the way home she fell asleep. The driver honked his horn to wake her up, she paid him and stepped inside the house.  
  
It was dark and still smelled of table wax.  
  
She didn't have the energy to empty her trunks, to find places for her wand and her books and her robes. Crookshanks was already out in the yard, adjusting easily to chasing squirrels, rather than owls.  
  
Hermoine, too tired to move the trunk off her bed, and unable to bring herself to sleep in her parent's bedroom, made herself comfortable on the couch, curling up under and afghan and falling asleep as dawn approached.  
  
**  
  
It had been Harry Potter who came to him first, shoving him against the wall and whispering (fiercely), "You knew, how did you KNOW?"  
  
Malfoy shrugged, as much as he could while pinned to the wall by an irate Potter, "That's for me to kno-"  
  
Potter slammed him back into the wall, "Was it you?"  
  
Malfoy, pretenses dropped, looked down at him with confusion, "Pardon me?"  
  
"Was." Her slammed Malfoy against the wall to punctuate each word, "It. You?"  
  
"It would be what?"  
  
"Did you kill her father?"  
  
Malfoy looked at him, confusion the only emotion that held his attention, "No." he answered simply, unable to muster the energy for sarcasm.  
  
Potter released the lapels of Malfoy's robes, smoothed them down, did an about-face and left Malfoy to wonder when (exactly) did he let the any of them get off.  
  
**  
  
Hermoine found out (the hard way) that she was not very good at cooking the non-magical way. Her expertise in potions did not translate over to Bisquik and milk. Her pancakes were shitty and Hermoine consoled herself with more Ritz crackers; they tasted like the orange Bertie Bott's beans, except crunchy.  
  
She reacquainted herself with BBC and STAR, searching (futilely) for something that was quality to veg out to: nothing. There was nothing but news and adverts. She gave up on the television and made her way to the study. Books lined the shelves, fiction, non-fiction, anthologies, collections; they patterned her parents in their barest form.  
  
She picked up one book, whose cover was threadbare, and the pages barely adhered to the binding. She sat on the floor beside the chair that her dad used to sit in, the comfy, worn Lay-Z-Boy that her mother hated so much (mum).  
  
She didn't like the book but she read it anyway, anything to pass time and forget about the respirator and the catheter and the IV that ran into a blue vein and the nurses with their white hats and their motherly frowns and their tsks and her mum not moving...  
  
**  
  
Draco Malfoy was bored. Crabbe and Goyle were doing something stupid (per usual) and for one of the first times, Malfoy did not find it funny, nor in the least amusing. Rather, he realized, it was tiring, they were stupid he wished they would just stop and be quiet.  
  
Just be...quiet.  
  
Snape was talking in the background, something about something or another, Malfoy didn't really care. He found himself staring at the empty seat beside Harry and Ron. They glared back.  
  
His eyes went blank; the curiosity that possessed them fell into blank nonchalance, focusing (not really) on the wall just behind Snape's talking head.  
  
Bored.  
  
He was...bored.  
  
He twirled his quill between his fingers, and tried to think about something other than blank brown eyes.  
  
**  
  
The book still sucked like last time, but it didn't matter, it was time to go to the hospital. She didn't bother with a taxi this time, nor did she bother with the broom.  
  
Her bicycle was still in the garage. Spiderwebs traveled along the spokes of the wheels and gummed the handle bars. She could have used a simple cleansing spell, but she didn't want to bother with the wand (and the reminders). She wetted a toilette and smoothed away the cobwebs. It was a shaky start but it came back to her (like riding a...).  
  
The same nurses manned the desk, the same respirator beeped with annoyance as she sat beside her mum and limply clasped her hand.  
  
She was tired, so she slept, her hair limp against the crook of her mother's arm.  
  
**  
  
**  
  
It was bothering him and he didn't know why.  
  
The scene in the hall had been replaying in his mind, over and over and over like a broken tape. Their first encounter in the hall, with her blank eyes trying to place his face. They kept popping up as he tried to do other things, other things not pertaining to the bloody mud-blood.  
  
She hadn't thrown back a sharp retort.  
  
Just clambered up and over him and went on her way, not bothering to look back and not bothering to apologize.  
  
This was bloody bothering him, it was. The question remained, then, why?  
  
Pushing Ron into a wall didn't solve anything, he had tried that, multiple times (much to Harry's and Ron's chagrin). It just served to distract him until he wasn't paying attention and those bloody blank, stupid eyes floated up, and back into his conscience.  
  
If this continued, he feared, he might actually start to care.  
  
And that would be a laugh.  
  
A bloody, stupid laugh.  
  
It would.  
  
**  
  
The nurses kicked her out again, and she walked home, with the bike beside her. This stupid rut would have to go, she thought, it was time to do something.  
  
Anything.  
  
Just something to get her mind off of the respirator and her mum's clammy hands.  
  
Something.  
  
When she got home (it took her longer than necessary, but that's because she had tripped) she cleaned the scrape on her knee, and went about straigtening the house. The laundry was still in the wash, it had been sitting there for a week now, all smelly and moist and now it had to go.  
  
She ran the washer on the clean-cycle and began to scrub the plates that had crusted in the sink. She could have grabbed her wand.  
  
She didn't.  
  
Her fingers were sore and raw and from the scrubbing, they smelled of bad eggs and rotted flowers, and she was humming a tune that she heard on the radio.  
  
It was catchy and she wondered (ever briefly) if it was a meme.  
  
**  
  
The day just kept getting worse and it was all that damn mudblood's fault. He had snapped at Crabbe and Goyle and they had scurried into a corner somewhere to lick their wounds.  
  
Harry and Ron were all angry and bitter that Hermoine hadn't told them, that Malfoy knew before them; that they still hadn't heard anything.  
  
He didn't care. He wouldn't.  
  
He got back to his room, it was still a mess from that morning, and he sat on his bed wondering why he wasn't out there beating up someone.  
  
There was always someone to beat up, his father taught him, always someone to hurt or torture or mess with. So why wasn't he out there hurting someone?  
  
He found himself by his desk, pulling out a quill and addressing a letter:  
  
"Mudblood," He wrote, angrily, "Good Riddance."  
  
He looked at the paper, with the angry words and the frenzied handwriting. Good, he thought, at least I'm hurting someone.  
  
He sealed it with some wax and tied it to is owl. At least this was done.  
  
**  
  
end chapter 2  
  
**  
  
AP gov has become quite the muse. Yay!  
  
Read and Review and I'll love you (looooooong time)  
  
-dafnap 


	3. Breaking

Title: Curiosity  
  
Rating: R language and sexuality…  
  
Spoilers: Books  
  
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….  
  
Summary: Hermoine's mother takes a turn for the worst, and Draco seems to only exacerbate it.  
  
A/N: This'll take me time, I'm writing it in AP Gov, (easier than notes, eh?)  
  
**  
  
before  
  
**  
  
There was always someone to beat up, his father taught him, always someone to hurt or torture or mess with. So why wasn't he out there hurting someone?  
  
He found himself by his desk, pulling out a quill and addressing a letter:  
  
"Mud blood," He wrote, angrily, "Good Riddance."  
  
He looked at the paper, with the angry words and the frenzied handwriting. Good, he thought, at least I'm hurting someone.  
  
He sealed it with some wax and tied it to the owl. At least this was done.  
  
**  
  
**  
  
now  
  
**  
  
The owl came while she was scrubbing the wood floor. She was on her hands and knees and her hair was pulled back under a handkerchief. Her fingers were raw from scrubbing, from the splinters that came up from the unfinished floor. It was da's latest project; he'd been writing to her thru owl, telling her all about it.  
  
She continued to scrub.  
  
The owl, a rude thing, came swooping through an open window, screeching and clawing its way down the hall, leaving feathers and droppings as it searched for her. The stupid bird dropped the letter into a pile of dirty dishes and then squawked its way back out.  
  
Hermoine let out a string of curses and then gave up, letting her hands fall to her side. It was useless, the bird was gone anyway. She dug through the dirty dishes and pulled out the letter.  
  
It was Malfoy's bird, she could tell from its silvery feathers and rude disposition. Whatever could he be writing to her for?  
  
The letter explained itself, and it gave her a brief moment of laughter. It started as a quick intake of breath and bloomed into a fit of giggles. She covered her mouth with a gloved, soapy hand, the other one still holding the letter in front of her.  
  
"How-" She managed to tell no one in particular, in between giggles, "- Sweet!"  
  
**  
  
Malfoy realized his mood had not changed since he had fired off the letter. In fact, it had gotten worse  
  
Stupid Mud blood.  
  
**  
  
Hermoine had finished cleaning the floor and after scrubbing the bathroom she went back to read those two words and laugh some more.  
  
It was funny.  
  
Then the phone rang, and she dropped the letter and ran back into the kitchen. The phone rang of its hook by the kitchen sink, and for a brief moment she wondered if it was Harry or Ron, or, god forbid, even Malfoy.  
  
Hogwarts doesn't have a phone, but she picked it up anyway, hoping.  
  
It was the nurse from the hospital.  
  
Mum died five minutes ago.  
  
Would she like to come and see the body?  
  
Would she like to make the arrangements?  
  
Or let them handle it.  
  
Would she...  
  
**  
  
The respirator was off and the IV was put away and Mum looked so much better.  
  
And Hermoine had to turn away and ask the nurse to call her a taxi.  
  
The nurse's arm was around her shoulder and was making small circles on her arm. She pulled the sheet back over the bruised face and pulled Hermoine away. Her feet didn't seem to be working right and she wondered if she was under a spell.  
  
No, she remembered, Mum's dead.  
  
She couldn't cry. She tried, her face had crumpled when she first ran into the room, breathless and anxious, and she collapsed by the bed and no tears came out.  
  
Not even broken sobs or hitching cries.  
  
She just stared at the body that once was her mum and decided that it would be a good time to throw up (and she did.).  
  
The nurse had been kind enough to empty the trashcan afterwards.  
  
Hermoine followed the nurse out and she was led to a cot that she could lay on and pass out. She did and when her eyes opened again, light was streaming through the windows and Hermoine remembered and threw up again.  
  
Wiping her mouth, and pushing her self away from the trashcan she found another letter, sealed with wax and bearing the Malfoy seal.  
  
She didn't open it, simply tucked it in her back pocket and slipped out of the room. Checking the hall, she slipped back into her mum's room, and remembered for the second time that morning that she was dead.  
  
An old man, his forehead dotted with liver spots studied her angrily, and she backed out without apology.  
  
The nurse had found her, and her stupid hands went back around Hermoine's shoulders and led her away. Her stupid fingers (that couldn't save mum) rubbed slow circles around Hermoine's arm, and whispered important nothings in her ear as she led her away. The stupid doctor (that couldn't save da) told her about the arrangements for the funeral, that the insurance covered everything, and that until the funeral (of both mum and da), she would have to stay at a foster home.  
  
Everything had been arranged.  
  
And too tired to argue and too tired to fight she agreed, and followed the policeman out that would take her back home so she could pack.  
  
The trunk went into the back of the police car, and the bobby was nice enough to let her ride up front.  
  
The foster home was nice enough.  
  
She guessed.  
  
**  
  
It was when she was tucked in bed did she read the letter.  
  
"Granger," It began, "I hope you are having a miserable time taking care of your mud blood mother."  
  
"Hope she dies."  
  
"-Malfoy"  
  
She crumpled the letter, the red wax staining her fingers, threw it against the far wall, and tried to fall asleep.  
  
She could not.  
  
**  
  
Malfoy was feeling vaguely uneasy.  
  
Something was wrong, he could feel it in the roots of his hair. He had done something that (quiet possibly) crossed some line he did not know existed.  
  
He had done something and he didn't know what it was and he was feeling bad about it.  
  
It couldn't be about Ron or Harry; when he slammed them into the walls, he didn't feel the least bit bad. It felt good, real good in fact.  
  
So it couldn't be Ron or Harry.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle?  
  
No, he enjoyed messing with them as well.  
  
That left the mud blood Granger, and he wondered how she was doing, and (surprising even himself) if she needed any help.  
  
He punched his pillow a few times and tried to go back to sleep.  
  
Something was wrong.  
  
**  
  
There was something tapping on the window.  
  
When she woke up, her pillow was stained with red, and she briefly wondered if she had a bloody nose.  
  
It wasn't blood, just the red wax from the letter.  
  
Stupid Malfoy.  
  
But that didn't work.  
  
The tapping continued and it was a silvery white owl. Not Malfoy's (thank god).  
  
She opened the window and hoped the foster parents hadn't heard. It was Harry's owl, and she looked a bit perturbed. Her feathers were ruffled and her wide eyes stared at Hermoine accusingly.  
  
The letter clasped between his talons bore the seal of Harry Potter. Inside was both the scrawl of Harry and Ron, alternating every other paragraph. Harry began by telling her that they all missed her, even Moaning Mertyl had asked were she'd run off to. He told her how they all hope that her mum would get better and that they were all really sorry about her father's death.  
  
Right.  
  
She read about the recent Quidditch game (from Ron) and how Gryffindor had whipped Ravenclaw, and how Ron was absolutely brilliant with a bludger (again from Ron). Harry admitted (briefly) to catching the snitch and soon the letter (surprisingly long) delved back into classes and all the gossip she was missing out.  
  
Both Harry and Ron were arranging a trip to visit her in the next few weekends and if she wouldn't mind letting them sleep over (they would gladly help with any chores).  
  
The letter was crumpled as well and thrown in the trash with Malfoy's.  
  
The foster parents came clomping up the stairs. They talked to her briefly, explaining that she would only stay a few days and then she would be carted off to a boarding school for orphans.  
  
Boarding school.  
  
Hogwarts.  
  
She crossed her arms and scowled until they left.  
  
And then she finally cried.  
  
** 


	4. Pen Pals

Title: Curiosity  
  
Rating: R language and sexuality…  
  
Spoilers: Books  
  
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….  
  
Summary: Hermoine responds to Draco's letter.  
  
A/N: I'm liking AP Gov more and more, for an amazingly boring class it's a great creative stimulus…  
  
**  
  
before  
  
**  
  
The foster parents came clomping up the stairs. They talked to her briefly, explaining that she would only stay a few days and then she would be carted off to a boarding school for orphans.  
  
Boarding school.  
  
Hogwarts.  
  
She crossed her arms and scowled until they left.  
  
And then she finally cried.  
  
**  
  
now  
  
**  
  
It was two days later that Malfoy finally found out what was bothering him. He had heard it through the grapevine, from Potter to Paverati to Pansy to him.  
  
He felt sick. He remembered what he had written in that letter and he imagined what had happened when she read it.  
  
Had her mother died before or after she got the letter?  
  
It bothered him (and it shouldn't have), this heaviness followed him as he went through his day and he wondered when she was coming back.  
  
Should he apologize?  
  
Would she even open the letter if she knew who it was from? Would she burn his letter, would she curse his name and hex his house?  
  
Would he only be so lucky?  
  
This guilt was bothering him and he didn't know what to do. This wasn't normal, he never felt guilty for anything he had done (except when father- Lucious beat him, but that was normal, right?).  
  
If his father or mother died, he would be happy, wouldn't Hermoine? Parents were no good, he knew as well, they beat you when you're bad and slap you when they were bored. They punish you for speaking out of turn, they kiss you when you shut up.  
  
Parents, according to Draco Malfoy, were no good, only better dead.  
  
Right?  
  
**  
  
The foster parents waved goodbye to her as the taxi pulled from the curb. They didn't let her keep Crookshanks, and the cat would have to go, maybe to a shelter, maybe to another home.  
  
Hermoine sent Crookshanks to Ginny, and hoped that the cat wouldn't be too much trouble. She wrote to Ron and Harry to tell them to stop sending letters; she wouldn't be able to receive them without suspicion. She wrote that she missed them and loved them, and hoped that school was going well.  
  
She sent another letter to Malfoy:  
  
"Malfoy," She began, "Do not write. You've done enough." She had sent this one with the rest, before the taxi had come. She had written all of the letters on binder paper (the local grocery did not carry parchment...) and pen (...nor ink). She had sealed it with tape and tied the letters onto Harry's owl with shoelaces. She had locked the window and went to bed.  
  
The taxi moved with painful slowness with London traffic. The taxi passed by the entrance to Diagon's Alley and Hermoine briefly entertained the thought of jumping out of the car and running back.  
  
But the taxi passed by and her window of opportunity became padlocked. Her hand fell from the handle, and she settled back into her seat. She sat in the taxi, her head on the glass, watching the trails left behind by water.  
  
She found nothing in the tracks of water, she watched the droplets catch dust and dirt and wash them away.  
  
**  
  
The dormitory was...boring. There were no magical halls or enchanted bathrooms. Hermoine did not need a password to get into the dormitory; just a magnetized keycard that she would slip into the slot and it would spit back out.  
  
The beds were not as comfortable as those back at Hogwarts; hers was lumpy and disproportioned, her toes peeked over the edge. The covers consisted of a felt overlay and a starched sheet underneath. It was cold, but she didn't shiver, just dug deeper under the covers and tried to fall asleep.  
  
Sleep did not come.  
  
**  
  
Draco Malfoy was determined to ignore the guilt. He had done nothing wrong, (sticks and stones...) so why should he apologize to her or anyone else? He was a Malfoy; he could do whatever he wanted. Right? That's what Malfoys did: they took and kept and apologized for nothing.  
  
It was his birthright.  
  
He didn't stand ten years of beatings and nights under the stairs for nothing; he had suffered, now it was his turn.  
  
Right?  
  
Right.  
  
**  
  
Morning came and it hurt Malfoy's eyes. The light was painful and he threw an arm up over his head. The weekend was supposed to be fun and enjoyable.  
  
It had never hurt before.  
  
His eyes felt gummy and when he stretched his back cracked in the oddest places. He yawned and stood unsteadily on his feet; fuck, even his toes cracked (they can do that?).  
  
Crabbe and Goyle were still asleep, Goyle's mouth was open and tendrils of drool traversed his pillow. Crabbe was dead to world; he would not wake up until at least one in the afternoon. Malfoy had the morning to himself and he did not like it one bit.  
  
He threw on some robes, brushed back his hair, scowled a few times in the mirror and made his way down to the hall to where breakfast was.  
  
Gryffindor table was practically bursting with whispers. His traveled back to the empty seat that always seemed to be by Harry and Ron; no one had the guts to fill it.  
  
But there were three empty chairs today; they were the focal point of all the whispers that the hall seemed to be awash with.  
  
Where were they?  
  
Malfoy didn't feel hungry anymore and he set down his fork. Pansy poked him with a dull knife and leaned in, "Didja hear?"  
  
He shook his head, but his eyes never left the three empty chairs, "What are you talking about?"  
  
Pansy scooted closer, and Malfoy wondered whether it was to make sure he heard or so her foot could 'accidentally' rub against his own.  
  
"Potter and Weasley snuck into the forbidden forest last night, and..." Her voice became lower and she began to whisper the supposedly 'juicy' secrets; her breath tickled his ear. He prevented himself from violently swiping her away.  
  
Harry and Ron (when did he start calling them that?) seemed to have gotten themselves into trouble again. They were holed up in the hospital wing, unconscious or in a coma (as Pansy put it). They hadn't moved since Hagrid had found them bloodied and almost dead outside of the weeping willow. The hall was vibrating with rumors, of You-Know-Whos, werewolves and manticores.  
  
Above the former triumvirate's spot circled Hedwig, Potter's owl. Around her talons were two letters. Unable to find neither Harry nor Ron, Hedwig began to fly towards Draco.  
  
It took everything Malfoy had to stay in his seat and not run. He did not want to know what Granger had sent him, he didn't want to know, didn't want to read, didn't want...  
  
The letter fell from her talons and landed gracelessly on Malfoy's head.  
  
**  
  
The school was as boring as the dormitory. She sat in class all day, taking notes (because she remembered that she always did) on dull plain binder paper, with pencils and pens. The teachers lectured from the book, with slightly bored looks in their eyes. They didn't care enough to have favorite students, or disfavored ones (she remembered Snape, briefly).  
  
She stared ahead, just past the teacher, taking notes and somewhat surprised when she had a full page by the end of the class. She didn't remember taking the notes, didn't remember writing down anything at all.  
  
When the day finished and she made her way back to her dorm, and sat on her bed. She stayed there until lights out, when she moved again (a few hours later) slipped under the covers and stared at the ceiling.  
  
**  
  
The letter had been short and succinct and when Draco had finished reading it he threw it in the trash.  
  
He wanted to write back something scathing, something so utterly Draco Malfoy that the mud blood would cry.  
  
But when he picked up the pencil, he couldn't, his fingers didn't seem to work when he tried to write the words he wanted to put down. He put upon paper something so utterly foreign and alien that when he was finished he sealed it and sent it before he could throw it in the trash.  
  
**  
  
Something was tapping on her window and Hermoine's hand looked for a brick.  
  
She sat up and realized she had been asleep.  
  
Huh.  
  
She reached for the window and forced it open (it squeaked). It was an owl and Hermoine could feel tendrils of anger curl up from her stomach. It was Malfoy's owl.  
  
The asshole.  
  
She promptly shut the window again, gaining little pleasure at watching Malfoy's owl beat against the window angrily, it's talons flashing in the moonlight.  
  
She went to sleep to the sound of angered squawks and scratching talons.  
  
**  
  
Lunch at the St. Thomas's Boarding School for Girls was a simple affair, turkey and cheese sandwiches, little cartons of milk and an apple. She took all of this in its brown bag and would eat her lunch in the schoolyard, on this little cement bench that she had discovered on her second day.  
  
She had tripped over it when she had been exploring the school's grounds, searching out the equivalents of secret tunnels and whipping willows. There were none, just a pitiful briar patch that was more bark than bite (and not even that).  
  
Within it was a secluded little spot, a demented secret garden of dead plants and twisted vines. Within it were the remains of what once was a lunch area, and a crumbling little cement bench was covered in vines.  
  
Bloodied fingers and torn clothing later she had a little spot for lunch that didn't require for her to make friends.  
  
She took her lunches there and studied the dried vines and tried to recall lessons from Hogwarts, going over in her head questions from the NEWTs and particularly painful potions test.  
  
She took a bite from her sandwich and heard the screech of an owl.  
  
Malfoy.  
  
Briefly considering between finishing her sandwich and making a run for it, she chose the latter and dropped her sandwich, grabbing her bag and running through the briar bush.  
  
Her stockings caught on the thorns and she did not care. She saw the letter clutched in his claws and she did not want to read anymore from Draco Malfoy.  
  
The owl fell into a bombing run, his beak inches from her trailing hair, and she ran into the middle of the lunch yard, all the orphan girls looking at her with disgust and indifference. The owl changed those looks to fear.  
  
And as they made a run for it, away from the irate bird and it's pursuee, the bird circled and then dove in for the kill.  
  
It whipped up her hair and its talons became entangled, the letter falling to the wayside. Its dirty deed done, the bird took to the skies, leaving Hermoine with her bag scattered at her feet, tangled hair, her hand clasped tightly around a letter from Draco Malfoy.  
  
To say that she was pissed would be...  
  
**  
  
It had been two days and no response. Malfoy had been trying to forget the letter that he had sent off, surprising himself when he thought that it might hurt her again.  
  
And he didn't want to hurt her.  
  
Which was new for him, since the past six years of his life had been devoted to hurting the wretched three.  
  
He couldn't even do that right.  
  
**  
  
Hermoine avoided the stares from her classmates. She sat gingerly down in her seat, her geography teacher doing a double take at her ruffled appearance. Whispers seemed to spontaneously erupt by her presence, girls leaned in and passed notes detailing her liaison with an irate owl.  
  
The whispers reached such a crescendo that the teacher tapped her desk with a pencil and promptly shushed them.  
  
Test day, the pencil told the class, shut up and sit down.  
  
The papers made their way back down each row, the geography test striking fear into every student's heart except Hermoine's. She fingered the parchment on the letter, missing the slightly oily feel. Even the wax was a welcome change from the gummy tape and staples used in the muggle world.  
  
She brought it out and stared at it as if it would bite her or worse.  
  
What did Draco want from her now? Did he want to tell her what a stupid mud blood she was, or how she was a smart-alecky priss, or that she was a whore, or a worse, a horrible student.  
  
She considered all these possibilities and opened the letter anyway.  
  
"Granger," It began, the writing rushed and hurried:  
  
"Come back."  
  
**  
  
Hate it? Like it? Love it and wish to marry it and bear its children?  
  
Either way, lemme know cause reviews are the key ingredient for the cure of writer's bloc, ask any author…  
  
-dafnap 


	5. Mrs. Macintosh's Mice

Title: Curiosity  
  
Rating: R language and sexuality…  
  
Spoilers: Books  
  
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….  
  
Summary: Now what does Hermoine do?  
  
A/N: I'm liking AP Gov more and more, for an amazingly boring class it's a great creative stimulus…  
  
**  
  
before  
  
**  
  
What did Draco want from her now? Did he want to tell her what a stupid mud blood she was, or how she was a smart-alecky priss, or that she was a whore, or a worse, a horrible student.  
  
She considered all these possibilities and opened the letter anyway.  
  
"Granger," It began, the writing rushed and hurried:  
  
"Come back."  
  
**  
  
now  
  
**  
  
He paced his room some more, it seemed to no good but it calmed him.  
  
Somewhat.  
  
It wasn't working, and he succeeded in only wearing out the carpet by his bed. He couldn't understand what possessed him to write that letter; she had written to him specifically asking him not to.  
  
But he had to.  
  
After he found out about Ron and Harry, he couldn't have stopped himself from writing the letter. He knew that she had to know, that she had to be made aware of the state of her friends.  
  
But after her father, and then her mother (she missed them, he guessed, he couldn't imagine why) this would only hurt her more.  
  
Why was this affecting him so much? It was getting to the point where he was considering a visit to Ms. Pomfry. Hermoine Granger was mud blood, for six years they had antagonized each other endlessly, mercilessly. After a violent rendezvous in the middle of the night, suddenly all he wanted to do was not focus on her goddamn blank, brown eyes.  
  
They were...they scared him; maybe it was from when is father had slammed against the wall, or when he hit him with a paralyzing spell; the times when Draco knew fear.  
  
Fear, he mused, bred familiarity. Her eyes had been empty, completely vacant of any of the snarkiness that had amused him (and annoyed him) all those years.  
  
They were just gone; there was nothing there but the color brown.  
  
The color brown scared the pureblood shit out of him.  
  
It did.  
  
**  
  
Hermoine puzzled over the letter for a while. It was missing something, the sarcasm and the criticism that she was used to was gone.  
  
Just three words: Granger, come, and back.  
  
Granger was familiar enough; Malfoy never could bring himself to say her name, as if doing so would acknowledge her existence.  
  
But the last two words, the "Come back." Those were confusing. They did not make sense, there was no play on her mud-blood heritage, there was no insult on her entire genetic line, just those two words.  
  
It did not make sense.  
  
She had flipped the paper back and forth, looking for any other pieces of writing, or words. There was nothing else.  
  
Just three words:  
  
"Granger, Come back."  
  
**  
  
Potter and Weasley had not woken up yet. They still, infuriatingly, occupied two of Pomfry's bed. They still did not move nor make themselves an annoyance.  
  
Malfoy had noticed even Snape eyeing their chairs, wondering where all his worst students disappeared to.  
  
First Granger, and now Potter and Weasley.  
  
The students had been whispering non-stop since the accident, with theories about You-Know-Who being the majority.  
  
Pansy thought the three were being punished by Dumbledore for being such pests.  
  
Pavorati thought that they had been cursed.  
  
Longbottom suspected Peeves.  
  
And Draco Malfoy didn't know what to think, he just knew how to stare just past Snape's head, and try to ignore Granger's stupid brown eyes.  
  
**  
  
Hermoine passed her geology test with a 100 percent; she didn't even remember taking it, but she passed.  
  
The letter was burning a whole in her cardigan pocket, waiting for her to do something about it.  
  
Malfoy's letter was almost as annoying as Malfoy himself.  
  
When she got to her room, she sat on her bed and pulled out the letter, looking at it, still trying to find the other words that Malfoy meant to write, that he did write.  
  
"Mud blood."  
  
No.  
  
"Whore."  
  
Nowhere.  
  
"Bitch."  
  
She couldn't find that word either. Neither could she find cunt or slut or mud blood bint. Nothing, just those three words: "Granger, Come back."  
  
Puzzling, puzzling indeed.  
  
**  
  
Why is she not here?!? Malfoy was angry, pissed off, put out. He had told her to come back, had practically ordered her and the mud-blood good-for- nothing-gryffindor bitch did nothing but ignore him.  
  
He was Draco Malfoy and he was not suited to be ignored.  
  
**  
  
Maybe if she ignored the letter it would go away.  
  
That's it, she'd ignore it, she would not acknowledge its existence; she would just...throw it away. Yes. That's what she would do.  
  
So she did.  
  
Five minutes of sitting on the bed and trying to read her history book did nothing. She found her self pulling the letter out of the trash, smoothing it out and reading it again.  
  
She would go, she decided, if only to get this horrid experience out of the way.  
  
She would go.  
  
Now if only her feet would work.  
  
**  
  
Malfoy found himself in the halls one night, by himself, his sleep robes clutched over his body. He couldn't sleep; he couldn't sit still so he left his room.  
  
He found himself climbing down the steps to the infirmary, and found himself standing beside Potter's and Weasley's bed.  
  
The two looked...tired...if they had been awake, Malfoy figured, they would fall back asleep.  
  
Potter's face was scratched, his cheek was slashed, the blood had congealed to the consistency of jello, dark red and clumped. His eyes were sunken into the gray sockets and they did not move in the flickering candlelight.  
  
Weasley, always the weaker of the two, was in even worse condition. His neck was a mass of vicious red welts and bruises and his arms and legs were still seeping blood from beneath their bandages.  
  
Malfoy felt his feet backing away. He could not take his eyes off of the bodies (for surely they were bodies). They couldn't be real, those cuts and slashes and bruises and welts, they did not belong on the infamous Potter and the poor boy Weasley.  
  
He kept moving back until he ran into a low table. He tumbled over, the table crashing and breaking under his weight.  
  
He heard Pomfry curse, and felt the floor vibrate with her angry stomps.  
  
Malfoy couldn't take his eyes off of the bodies as he began to run away; he couldn't tear away from the scene as he left the room, stumbling backwards as he ran.  
  
**  
  
It was the first time she had picked up her wand since the...accident. It felt heavy in her arms (everything felt heavy nowadays). Its grip was cold and smooth and she had trouble holding on to the base as she gave it an experimental wisk.  
  
The tip sparked and she felt the magic tingle; it spread warmly through her arm.  
  
It felt warm now.  
  
She packed her bag, emptying the trunk of what was important; she would come back (she told herself). It would only be a few days.  
  
Just long enough to clock Malfoy a good one.  
  
**  
  
He escaped from Pomfry quickly enough, it was when he reached his room did he feel his chest heave.  
  
Breath came out in short, labored gasps, seeping hotly down is robes. His face was flushed, cheeks red and warm.  
  
He wondered were his feet had disappeared to. He couldn't feel them and he briefly wondered (as another wave of dizziness came over him) where they had run off to.  
  
He flopped onto the bed, listening to his breath and the way his chest strained with each intake of air, he wondered since when the mud-blood had ever been worth it.  
  
When had Potter and Weasley been worth it?  
  
When had any of this been worth it?  
  
And where, in god's name, had his legs disappeared to?  
  
**  
  
She slipped out of the dormitory, angry (an emotion) that she had left her broom at home. It was under her bed, collecting dust.  
  
A broom collecting dust.  
  
It would be funny if she could feel anything other than anger and pain.  
  
She didn't laugh or even show a hint of amusement in her eyes as she whispered "Alohomora!" towards the various doors in the dormitory.  
  
It was as she was tiptoeing down the hall that she heard the shuffling of feet other than her own.  
  
"Where are you going?" Asked a tiny voice, smaller than Hermoine could ever imagine.  
  
It was Milly, a small little girl of about four; Hermoine had been tutoring her in reading, and Milly had taken a liking to Hermoine and the book Mrs. Macintosh's Mice.  
  
Hermoine turned slowly, her wand slipping into her sweater, "Go to sleep," she whispered, "Go."  
  
Milly shook her head and clutched her arms tighter around her chest, her face scrunched up and her whole body twisted along with her head, "No." She told Hermoine, "No." She said again.  
  
Hermoine smiled wanly, "Milly, please, I'll be back, I promise."  
  
Milly's nose scrunched up even more, "You're lying."  
  
Hermoine didn't answer since she didn't know her self.  
  
Milly sensed that and began to turn around, "Hurry back." she whispered and slipped back into her room.  
  
Hermoine Granger left St. Thomas's Boarding School for girls as quickly as she had come.  
  
"Alohomora." She spoke one last time. She slipped through; the only one noting her absence was Milly, who looked down from her window to the quickly departing figure.  
  
"You lie." She whispered, and then padded off to bed.  
  
**  
  
Malfoy had found his feet sometime during the night. Someone had nailed them back onto his torso as he slept and when he woke, fire seemed to be his bedclothes. His muscles were sore and strained and Malfoy winced with each step of his newly reattached limbs.  
  
Not a good day.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle met with him outside of the breakfast hall, they had, it seemed, a better night's rest than Malfoy had.  
  
No wonder.  
  
Dumbledore made an announcement that security would be beefed up due to an apparent attempt on Potter's life during the night. He warned that any enterprising nere-do-wells would meet maximum, painful force. Malfoy had no problem with that; he had no intention of entering into that room again.  
  
He glowered at his breakfast, which seemed limp and lacking flavor. The three chairs were to his back, and they seemed to bore into him as he tried to eat.  
  
He found himself sneaking peeks at the empty chairs and wondering if they would be filled again.  
  
Since when had cared? That question had been bothering him since the very beginning. No answer had yet to make itself apparent, and he was left to search for it in the mess of eggs and half-eaten waffles.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He could not wrap his mind around that, around the emptiness, the emptiness in Granger's eyes, the emptiness of those three chairs.  
  
He couldn't understand why this was bothering him at all.  
  
He would never mention any of this to his father. Lucious would beat him, of course, for not focusing on his studies, for writing letters to a mud- blood, for daring to think of anything other than school and...  
  
The eggs flopped to the side of the plate, and Malfoy was struck for the second time that year that the waffles were missing something.  
  
Something was.... missing.  
  
**  
  
London did not glow for Hermoine Granger. It throbbed dully and she pulled the hood of her coat tighter over her face, and gripped her wand harder.  
  
It was midnight and Hermoine Granger had no idea of where she was.  
  
When she had found herself in the alleyway behind the school, she found herself in the thick of the city as well. The chain link fence was easy to climb, but her hands felt blistered and sore afterwards.  
  
She wished for the Night-Bus, and surprising even her, it came.  
  
She didn't realize that she was still connected to anything, much less the magical, simple spells were cake, but Night-Buses meant that...  
  
She didn't ask any more questions of herself, just climbed the steps of the bus and found a warm seat.  
  
Cocoa and marshmallows and pumpkin pie and all sorts of sweets, the conductor let her have them for free, but she couldn't eat them.  
  
Her stomach hurt, and grumbled and turned and she fingered the letter in her pocket once more.  
  
Unsurprisingly, she could not sleep and she didn't, her eyes following the water drops as they moved lazily down the glass pane.  
  
**  
  
AP Gov and AP Enviro seem to be perfect cures for writer's bloc….god, I love not learning….  
  
Read and Reviw  
  
Like it, hate it and want to stalk it and murder its loved ones one…by…one, or love it and want to be its heterosexual lifepartner, tell me! I love feedback! (it's a food group, I swear)  
  
-dafnap 


	6. ...Hits the Fan

Title: Curiosity  
  
Rating: R language and sexuality (mmm, sexuality…)  
  
Spoilers: Books  
  
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….  
  
Summary: Another rendezvous…  
  
A/N: dafnap got accepted to colleges…dafnap got accepted to colleges…..YAY!!! Now I really don't have to pay attention during Gov!!! Woohoo!!!  
  
**  
  
before  
  
**  
  
She wished for the Night-Bus, and surprising even her, it came.  
  
She didn't realize that she was still connected to anything, much less the magical, simple spells were cake, but Night-Buses meant that...  
  
She didn't ask any more questions of herself, just climbed the steps of the bus and found a warm seat.  
  
Cocoa and marshmallows and pumpkin pie and all sorts of sweets, the conductor let her have them for free, but she couldn't eat them.  
  
Her stomach hurt, and grumbled and turned and she fingered the letter in her pocket once more.  
  
Unsurprisingly, she could not sleep and she didn't, her eyes following the water drops as they moved lazily down the glass pane.  
  
**  
  
now  
  
**  
  
It was autumn, the leaves were colors other than their own, they flitted from the trees and Malfoy paid no mind.  
  
He found himself covering the Hogwarts commons, pacing the grass until it too turned yellow like the leaves. His shoes were muddy and his robes frayed from dragging across the ground.  
  
It had been two weeks since the letter, Potter and Weasley were still out and Malfoy could do nothing.  
  
He was distracted, couldn't study, and couldn't pay attention to anything but the cracks in the walls behind his teachers' heads.  
  
When the night came and Malfoy was in bed, sleep did not follow. The blankets lay curled around his legs, and the window was open as if the room was hot.  
  
The room was close to freezing but Malfoy was...warm, sweating, twisting in his sheets from nightmares and dreams that he had never faced before.  
  
Parents dying and he was crying, and all of these were nightmares because if his parents were really were dead, he would not cry. He would not do much at all, just collect the inheritance and proceed on his way.  
  
But in his dreams...his nightmares, he cried and he beat the ground and he grabbed the soil and he screamed to the heavens over his parents' graves and he did not know why.  
  
Granger hadn't done any of that. Her parents, he imagined, were good and kind and they didn't hit her (he had never seen any bruises). Yet she had never cried, he had never seen her cry.  
  
In his nightmares, with his horrible parents and his bruises and his blood, he cried over them, and here was Granger, with her perfect mud blood parents who never hit her or slapped her around and she wasn't crying.  
  
He didn't know what scared him more.  
  
**  
  
Hermoine stepped gingerly down from the bus, her robes in place, her bag over her shoulder. At the tip of the lake, Hagrid waited for her, a big grin traversing his giant face.  
  
"Hermoine!" He called; his arms already open for a hug that would surely kill her. She approached him warily, afraid of being snapped in half by his glee.  
  
Big, fat, and unfortunately wet tears splashed down from his cheeks and into her hair, and she struggled for breath as he gave her a tight hug.  
  
Realizing that Hermoine hadn't breathed for sometime, Hagrid let her down gently, and helped her into the boat. "Dontcha worry, lass, we'll have you back in the saddle in no time." He looked around for her trunk, turning on his heel and looking under the Night Bus. He turned to her inquisitively, "Where yer bags, 'Moine?"  
  
Unable to meet Hagrid's eyes, Hermoine looked at her mud-scuffed feet, "I'm- " Why weren't words coming? "-Not...uh...staying."  
  
It took a while for Hagrid to catch on, but when he did, his face fell and it seemed as if everything good has left from his features. He looked sad, and a little bit angry.  
  
"Yer not stayin'?" He asked, his voice quiet, and all Hermoine could do was shake her head.  
  
"After-" He stopped himself, as if he would say something that Hermoine didn't want to hear, "Fine then, get on the boat, lets get you moving."  
  
She felt cold again, sitting at the prow of the ship, watching (and not watching) Hagrid row. He did not meet her eyes and Hermoine stopped trying.  
  
**  
  
When they got to the shore, Hagrid left her, letting her carry her own bags. He muttered something about feeding an animal or something and he left her there, at the entrance to Hogwarts.  
  
She turned to look at Hogwarts; her head craning back to follow the spires and the brick.  
  
Hefting her bag onto her shoulder she followed the steps up to the two large doors that signified the entrance to Hogwarts.  
  
At two AM, no one was awake to receive her. Where was Harry or Ron? No matter what the time would be, they would surely meet her, right?  
  
And what did Malfoy want with her?  
  
And why had she even come?  
  
And why did she have so many questions to herself that she couldn't answer.  
  
  
  
She moved up the steps slowly, and then quicker, not wanting to wait for anything, just wanting to get this over with and go back...home.  
  
**  
  
Malfoy woke up with a start, he didn't know why, there was no nightmare or sound or anything to prompt him to open his eyes and sit up with fright.  
  
He felt his breath strain against his chest, and he tried to get it under control.  
  
**  
  
She settled into the room that Finch had led her to, it was smaller than her old room, but it was...comfortable. The bed was blush and soft and decorated in her Gryffndor colors.  
  
Was she still a...  
  
The pillow was filled to the brim with feathers and it sunk in as set her head down. The blankets (plural) were so much more.... warm...than those back...home.  
  
Was it her...  
  
She lay there, snuggled under the blankets, the down tickling her nose and keeping her warm and everything was perfect except...she couldn't sleep.  
  
Not settling for another night of searching the cracks in the ceiling, she pushed her self up and out of bed, and padded quietly into the hall.  
  
**  
  
Malfoy was unable to get back to sleep, suddenly it was very hot in his room and he needed to get out.  
  
So he slipped on some robes and cracked his back, stretched and yawned and slipped out of his room in the Slytherin common room.  
  
His head was pounding painfully and there was no one around (awake) that he could pound into the wall to make himself feel better.  
  
The outside hall was cold, and Malfoy pulled his robes around him tighter, his feet going numb from the cement.  
  
He briefly considered going back into the room, going back to sleep and not waking up, but he couldn't, so he trekked down the hall, hoping that he was heading in the opposite direction of the infirmary.  
  
His feet had a different agenda and he found himself climbing down the steps to the infirmary.  
  
**  
  
Someone was already there.  
  
The candle light that seemed to hold constant vigil besides the beds was blocked by the form of a person.  
  
Malfoy almost turned around to run before noticing that the figure was smaller than Hagrid and skinnier than Pomfry.  
  
A mess of curls and locks was held together by a tight rubber band, the candle light turned simple mud blood brown into a thousand colors.  
  
Her shoulders were still, they did not move or shake, they were still.  
  
Her hands lay by her side, not moving.  
  
Her chin did not tremble, her eyes didn't move.  
  
They were brown, blank and empty.  
  
**  
  
"You never apologized for the bruise."  
  
The words snapped her out of her reverie, snapped her out of the nightmare world were everyone was dead and she was alone.  
  
She was not alone.  
  
She turned her head slowly, seeing Malfoy from the edge of her eye.  
  
"What do you want?" She asked, her voice low and tired.  
  
Malfoy ignored her question, sauntering (as much as he could) besides her, his hands in his pockets, false bravado in place, "So you found them, I take it, took you long enough."  
  
Her eyes flashed (emotion), and her voice became angry, "What do you want?" She asked again, her hands clenching and unclenching.  
  
"What I always wanted."  
  
Simple answer and Hermoine felt hate intermingling with pain, "To make fun of me, of Harry or Ron," She thrust her arm out, pointing to the bodies. She was turned angrily towards Malfoy, "You want to make fun of this?" The candle flickered and light was cast briefly on the bloodied and bruised and ...ohgodwhyaren'ttheymoving...  
  
faces.  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
He looked at her, his eyes as blank in the fashion that she had perfected.  
  
"I said I wanted to." He cocked his head to the side, a frown flitting across his features, "Does not mean I can."  
  
"Afraid I would clock you a good one?"  
  
"That's part of it, yeah."  
  
"If you don't keep your mouth shut, you can count on it." She turned back to look at her...friends.  
  
Malfoy couldn't stop his hand from reaching out, from touching her shoulder.  
  
**  
  
With speed Malfoy didn't know she possessed, he found himself pushed up against the wall, a hand pressed against his Adam's apple, the other pushing his shoulder into the wall behind him.  
  
"Don't touch me." Her voice was low and angry and brimming over with emotion. Her eyes were flashing and her mouth was twisted into a frown.  
  
Emotion.  
  
Malfoy drank it in.  
  
"Mud blood." He whispered, a triumphant grin crowning his features, "Welcome back."  
  
She punched him.  
  
Breath whooshed out of him in a startled gasp, and formed into laughter.  
  
Emotion.  
  
"Cunt."  
  
Another punch.  
  
"Slut."  
  
And another and...  
  
"Whore."  
  
...Another.  
  
And soon tears were falling from her eyes, and tiny fists tried to pummel him, to get him to stop talking, to get him to just be quiet, to get him to just shut the fuck up, to get him to stop making her so angry.  
  
Malfoy caught her fists, suddenly not amused by the flurry of punches. He caught her wrists and held them, she moved and she struggled and glared at him with angry and fury and pain...he stared her down.  
  
And she stopped.  
  
Her hair had slipped out of the ponytail, and it lay limply against her shoulders, and suddenly she was tired and she felt her body sagged  
  
And suddenly Malfoy was kissing her, thin cold lips pressing into her own, a slick tongue slipping into her mouth pushing against her teeth, and then her tongue.  
  
Malfoy still held her wrists and now he held her mouth as well, with his mouth, with his tongue, with lips.  
  
She struggled at first, and then fell into it, falling into his mouth blindly.  
  
This is...  
  
"Malfoy!" She shouted, wrenching herself free, staring at him with the same mixture of anger and pain, with some shock thrown into the mix, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"  
  
**  
  
His hands were empty and so was his mouth and Malfoy was very confused.  
  
Where was he and what was he doing with Hermoine on his breath?  
  
A confused finger lifted to his lips, and they came away wet.  
  
Hermoine was looking at him angrily, her hand swiped at her lips, as if to try and rub them clean.  
  
He had kissed...a mud blood.  
  
"Bloody HELL!" He shouted, "BLOODY HELL!" He tried to wipe his lips but nothing seemed to get them clean.  
  
"Don't come near me, or here, again." She pointed to the door, "Leave or I'll scream."  
  
"Me first," He muttered, pushing past her, "Before I kill myself."  
  
He stomped out of the room, pulling his robe tighter around his body, and trying to forget the feel of her lips.  
  
Hermoine wiped her face angrily with her hands, as if doing so would make Malfoy get off her skin.  
  
It didn't work and she still felt dirty.  
  
And she remembered his lips and his tong-  
  
NO!!!  
  
**  
  
till next time, same bat time, same bat channel!  
  
**  
  
if it had been me, I sure as hell wouldn't complain…but then again…  
  
Hate it? Like it? Love it and want to sing "Save the Last Dance" courteousy of the local mariachi band? Tell me! Feedback rocks! YOU ROCK!  
  
-dafnap  
  
ps: rock on… 


	7. Tire Swing

Title: Curiosity  
  
Rating: R language and sexuality (mmm, sexuality…)  
  
Spoilers: Books  
  
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….  
  
Summary: And yet another rendezvous… with fatal consequences?  
  
A/N: Spring break acted as a horrible writer's bloc, apologies for late chapter. Many apologies, I shall go flog myself now.  
  
**  
  
before  
  
**  
  
His hands were empty and so was his mouth and Malfoy was very confused.  
  
Where was he and what was he doing with Hermoine on his breath?  
  
A confused finger lifted to his lips, and they came away wet.  
  
Hermoine was looking at him angrily, her hand swiped at her lips, as if to try and rub them clean.  
  
He had kissed...a mud blood.  
  
"Bloody HELL!" He shouted, "BLOODY HELL!" He tried to wipe his lips but nothing seemed to get them clean.  
  
"Don't come near me, or here, again." She pointed to the door, "Leave or I'll scream."  
  
"Me first," He muttered, pushing past her, "Before I kill myself."  
  
He stomped out of the room, pulling his robe tighter around his body, and trying to forget the feel of her lips.  
  
Hermoine wiped her face angrily with her hands, as if doing so would make Malfoy get off her skin.  
  
It didn't work and she still felt dirty.  
  
And she remembered his lips and his tong-  
  
NO!!!  
  
**  
  
now  
  
**  
  
He was actually lost in the halls of Hogwarts.  
  
He had been attending Hogwarts for seven years, and he was lost getting back to his own room.  
  
Damn mud blood.  
  
No matter how many times he wiped his lips with his robe, Granger's stupid- no-good-mud blood-lips lingered.  
  
They felt raw.  
  
He cursed Granger, Potter, Weasley and himself under his breath, afraid of waking anyone who might become witness to how red his lips were.  
  
They where bright red, surely anyone would notice; they felt like they were burning.  
  
He felt like he was burning.  
  
His skin felt puckered and hot and goddamnit, he needed a cold shower.  
  
Anything...  
  
He rounded the corner and found himself back at the infirmary.  
  
He had gone in a circle.  
  
GODDAMNIT!  
  
**  
  
When Malfoy had left, she had found herself moving as far away from the prone bodies of her friends.  
  
They seemed dead, but like the late-night horror movies she had seen on the telly, their chests continued to move up and down.  
  
They were breathing.  
  
They looked dead… they had to be to look like that.  
  
Yet, tendrils of air escaped from between their lips, and their chests still moved.  
  
And she felt cold.  
  
She sat in the corner, pulling her robes over her bare knees and wrapped her arms around her legs.  
  
She was cold.  
  
The stone floor was cool, the flickering torches casting little light and gave off even less heat.  
  
Her lips felt clammy, slick and cold, like sick jello.  
  
Her eyes barely reflected the dim torches as she fixated on Ron and Harry.  
  
They didn't move.  
  
And for a while, neither did Hermoine.  
  
**  
  
Malfoy couldn't get his feet to move away from the infirmary, away from the awful mud blood and her comatose friends. Rather, he found himself moving closer to the door, he found himself grasping the doorframe and peering in.  
  
Granger was still there, this time she had retreated into the corner, the light barely revealing her small frame.  
  
She seemed fixated, hypnotized even, by her prone friends. Her eyes, the damning brown, blank eyes, became faceted in the light of the torches.  
  
Draco felt his insides twist, and for the first time in those months, he was sick: feeling scared and confused.  
  
He stepped inside with every intent to do something about it, with every intent to mess with Granger's head and exorcize her damn blank eyes from his brain.  
  
With bluster and bravado he began to open his mouth, a thousand insults on the tip of his tongue.  
  
And then he shut it.  
  
Before he knew it he was settling himself down beside her, drawing his knees in, and bringing a hand up to hover above her back. But that was as far as he could go; afraid of getting socked, or worse, kissed. He couldn't bring himself to touch her just yet.  
  
He wasn't that far gone...  
  
He couldn't bring himself to speak to her just yet either.  
  
So he sat there, his arms wrapped around his legs, his eyes trying to find what was so interesting on the wall just above the cots, trying to find where he went wrong and found himself here, beside the infuriating mud blood.  
  
Hermoine didn't say anything, Probably don't even register as a blip on her bloody rader.  
  
And for once, it didn't make him angry. He didn't have the urge push or kick the stupid girl, didn't have the urge to yell at her or sneer and make remarks on her lineage.  
  
He just sat there, staring at the wall, wondering when he would finally come to his senses and leave.  
  
**  
  
It was his breathing that awoke her. She had fallen into a fugue, the cracks in the wall holding more interest than breathing itself, so when she heard his breath, shallow and slippery, she found herself falling back into reality.  
  
Draco was sitting beside her, his arms wrapped around the tops of his knees in much the same fashion as she currently sat. His robes were pulled tight, and his slate eyes scanned the walls with feigned interest.  
  
She didn't know whether to run or stay put.  
  
She didn't feel particularly up to running, or moving at all for that matter; but she didn't want to be verbally, or maybe even physically, abused either.  
  
But Malfoy was doing neither.  
  
He looked...tired.  
  
There were bags under his eyes, faint, imperceptible lines. He didn't look well, he looked much like Hermoine had before the NEWTs: stressed and pulled thin.  
  
Any sympathy that Hermoine had felt didn't not appear in her voice as she finally spoke quietly, "I'll scream."  
  
He blinked for a few moments, startled out of whatever reverie he had been hiding in, "Excuse me?"  
  
"I said I would scream if you did not leave, and yet you're back."  
  
He looked at her as if she had said two plus two equaled bananas, "And you would do this why...?"  
  
"Because."  
  
"My, you have been gone long, haven't you?"  
  
They fell silent, both unsure of how to proceed, but both unwilling to back down.  
  
Malfoy resumed his examination of the wall, and Hermoine looked down at her feet and scuffed the floor with her shoes.  
  
They stayed that way for a few minutes, until Hermoine summoned up the balls to ask the question that had been on her mind.  
  
"Why, Malfoy, pray tell, are you here? Is it really taking you this long to think of a nasty comment to say?"  
  
He didn't answer, rather dropped his head and began to examine his shoes as well, as if shamed.  
  
Malfoy...shamed?!?  
  
"I'll help you," She sneered, " Stupid mud blood," She ticked off a finger, "Ignorant bint," ticked off another finger, "My mother is a whore," And another, "Oh, and cannot forget the classic, teacher's pet-"  
  
Before she could finish, Malfoy had pushed himself off the floor angrily, "Look, I didn't come here to verbally abuse you, or Potter, or Weasley, or have the same done to me-"  
  
"Then why did you come?" Hermoine asked quietly, suddenly feeling...guilty?  
  
This stopped Malfoy, and Hermoine watched as he seemed to struggle for an answer, as if he didn't know it for himself.  
  
Rather than tell her that, he turned on his heel and ran out of the room, leaving a very confused Hermoine in his wake.  
  
She pushed herself off of the floor, brushing her robes clean from the dust. The room was quiet again, to quiet.  
  
Hermoine straightened her robes, brushed off the dust and left the room with one last glance at her friends.  
  
She couldn't be there any more.  
  
She just...couldn't.  
  
**  
  
Hermoine found herself walking the grounds a few hours later. School was in session and she had to physically remove herself from Hogwarts or she feared she would have found herself back in class, her butt in the first row seat, a sharpened quill gripped tightly in her right hand.  
  
She couldn't do that again.  
  
It had taken everything she had to convince herself that her time at Hogwarts was finally over, that she would never take another class again.  
  
It had taken everything she had to leave and try her hardest not to look back.  
  
And yet she was back.  
  
She couldn't stay in her room, she couldn't go to class, she couldn't see Harry and Ron (she feared she might do something rash, like break a vase or punch her arm through a wall), and she couldn't visit Hagrid.  
  
So she found herself skirting close to the Whooping Willows, looking for clues. At least that was what she told herself.  
  
In truth she was scuffing her toes in the dirt and trying her hardest to fight nostalgia.  
  
This, her foot lightly kicked a tree root that poked out of the ground, was where she had tripped the first time she had tried to get past the willow.  
  
This, her hand cleared away a dusty rock, was where Ron plopped himself and refused to move after a particularly nasty run.  
  
This, and she looked away from the red soaked ground, was where they had found Harry and Ron.  
  
She closed her eyes and felt no tears.  
  
Just fatigue.  
  
The ground was still red and her eyes snapped open.  
  
It was still red.  
  
It had been three weeks and the ground was still red.  
  
Hermoine looked up and examined the sky, watching as the black clouds moved slowly past. They had been up there for a while now, a physical reminder of her seemingly permanent mood.  
  
click  
  
It had been raining for a while now.  
  
click  
  
The ground was wet and soggy.  
  
click  
  
The blood was...fresh.  
  
click  
  
click  
  
click  
  
click  
  
click  
  
**  
  
Hermoine felt her heart seize up in her throat; adrenaline electrified through her veins and her head swam.  
  
Everything was on edge.  
  
Everything became silent, the noises, became amplified, reverberating through her head as she tried to sift through her thoughts and pull out a cohesive plan.  
  
Nothing came to mind.  
  
The Whooping Willow seemed to twist and bend, its vines and branches lashing at her with fury.  
  
She stepped back and tried to peer into the tree's branches.  
  
A droplet, morning's dew, fell onto her cheek, trickling just below her eye.  
  
A tear.  
  
She heard the tree shriek as it's vines twisted and slapped at her with more ferocity, and she ducked behind an overturned boulder.  
  
She felt more droplets hit her face, and she wiped them away.  
  
Her hands came back up bloody.  
  
Red smears covered her fingers and hands where she had wiped her face.  
  
Bloody nose?  
  
The tree screamed again and then Hermoine realized it wasn't that was making those awful noises.  
  
She looked back down at her hands, realizing that the red wasn't from her nose but from the droplets.  
  
It was blood.  
  
The tree continued to scream, a guttural sound...  
  
Malfoy.  
  
**  
  
"Malfoy!" She called, pushing her self up, and over the rock, "Malfoy! You stupid git!" Not stopping to think, she rolled under the whipping branches, feeling them lash against her skin.  
  
Malfoy's screams grew louder and his voice sounded hoarse, strained.  
  
More red droplets splattered against the ground.  
  
Safely at the base of the tree, her body pressed against the bark, the wood digging into her skin. Her eyes burned, they stung from her sweat and the blood; red droplets began to plunge down faster.  
  
She could barely spot Malfoy's twisting body from between writhing branches.  
  
It looked...broken.  
  
Her wand was back at home, and Malfoy's lay at the perimeter of the tree, precariously close to the lethal leaves.  
  
Acting on instinct she didn't know she still had, she watched, detached, as her body tucked, rolled, snatched the wand, and slip between the branches to sanctuary behind an overturned rock.  
  
She couldn't breathe, but her lungs seized up in a frantic imitation anyway.  
  
Malfoy stopped screaming, suddenly, the writhing, snapping branches moving with eerie silence.  
  
All that she could hear, that she could pick up on, was the thrashing of the tree and her heavy breathing (that didn't seem to do her much good).  
  
But Malfoy was still silent, and she glimpsed, briefly, his hateful blue eyes rolling to the back of his head.  
  
She had to get him out of there.  
  
Against her best interest, against anything sane what so over, she clambered between the branches and clambered up the gnarled trunk, her fingers scraping, raw and bloody, as she scrambled up the thorns and protrusions and the splinters.  
  
With Malfoy's wand, held surprisingly steady, she whispered as many incantations and spells and curses and hexes that she could remember, hoping that they would trigger something (anything!) and free Malfoy's limp (hopefully alive) body.  
  
But nothing seemed to work.  
  
"Alohomora!" It was the last one she had, "Alohomora!" She screamed louder, her voice cracking...  
  
…Still nothing.  
  
The tree, whipping, thrashing, screaming, and Hermoine watched, waiting to hear the telltale snap of the neck and the final, last crack of the spine.  
  
Something to tell her that she could give up; that there was nothing left for her to do.  
  
"Let him go," She whispered, more to herself than to anyone else, "Please."  
  
She closed her eyes, and felt her arms, still wrapped around an unmoving branch, go numb.  
  
The thrashing stopped so suddenly that Hermoine still had her eyes closed when Malfoy's body, limp and bloody, dropped to the ground.  
  
**  
  
tbc…  
  
**  
  
Read and Review" revitalizes body and soul!  
  
Thanks for sticking w/ me so far, AP testing and all proves to be great solutions to writer's bloc~!  
  
-dafnap  
  
rock! 


	8. Hardboiled

Title: Curiosity  
  
Rating: R language and sexuality…  
  
Spoilers: Books  
  
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….  
  
Summary: Malfoy, a bit confused about his condition, and none too happy, must deal with an irate Hermoine for putting her in the position of caring.  
  
A/N: ARGH!! Tests just around the corner, and I'm writing this thing than studying!!! ARGH!!!!  
  
  
  
**  
  
before  
  
**  
  
Malfoy's wand held surprisingly steady, she whispered as many incantations and spells and curses and hexes that she could remember, hoping that they would trigger something (anything!) and free Malfoy's limp (hopefully alive) body.  
  
But nothing seemed to work.  
  
"Alohomora!" It was the lst one she had, "Alohomora!" She screamed louder, her voice cracking...nothing.  
  
The tree, whipping, thrashing, screaming, and Hermoine watched, waiting to hear the tell-tale snap of the neck and the final, last crack of the spine.  
  
Something to tell her that she couled give up; that there was nothing left for her to do.  
  
"Let him go," She whispered, more to herself than to anyone else, "Please."  
  
She closed her eyes, and felt her arms, sitll wrapped around an unmoving branch, go numb.  
  
The thrashing stopped so suddenly that Hermoine still had her eyes closed when Malfoy's body, limp and bloody, dropped to the ground.  
  
**  
  
now  
  
**  
  
For a few seconds, everything was silent. The tree no longer writhed, there were no screams in the air, the only sound was a distant bell signaling the end of first period, and the labored breathing from deep within Hermoine.  
  
Malfoy didn't move, didn't scream, didn't curse, didn't do much of anything. His eyes were closed, his robes torn to shreds, his arms and legs bleeding from a thousand tiny cuts, and a large number of deep gashes.  
  
Hermoine watched; as she slipped down the tree, as she tiptoed slowly to Malfoy's prone body just lay there, bleeding.  
  
Was he...  
  
A flash back to the hospital, back to where her father lay on the cot, not doing much of anything.  
  
...dead?  
  
A hesitant hand reached out, hovering above Malfoy's nose and mouth, searching for the hot moisture of his breath.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Was he...  
  
Harry and Ron, looking for all the word like the living...  
  
...dead?  
  
She was afraid to touch him, but she let her fingers fall onto his cheek, looking for something...anything...  
  
Malfoy's eyes snapped open, searching into Hermoine's; unguarded, open. His breathing resumed in tortured gasps.  
  
Hermoine fell back, scuttling on her hands and feet, until she hit a tree, and fell down.  
  
He propped himself up on bloody arms, his eyes scanning his own body. He did not look surprised, he didn't not hitch his breath in pain, rather, it seemed (to Hermoine) that he studied his cuts, and gashes, and welts with detached familiarity.  
  
He looked back up at her, noticing for the first time, that she was there, shivering, not from the cold, but from fear, fear that Malfoy was dead, fear that there was yet another person she knew, however insignificant, was gone.  
  
His stomach hitched, and he stood up, unsteadily, feeling his legs protest with the movement.  
  
Something was wrong, and he looked back down at his arms and legs and felt dizzy.  
  
That was...a lot of blood.  
  
And he didn't feel it. He felt fine, he was sure of it. The cuts and gashes and the way his wrist turned in the oddest way, he should feel something, anything.  
  
But nothing.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Hermoine was still watching him fearfully, those brown eyes no longer blank, but a noxious combination of anger, pain, and hope.  
  
And than it hit...  
  
...rushing to the back of his head.  
  
He felt his legs giving out, felt them turn to something akin to jelly. His eyes didn't seem to work. They seemed attracted to the back of his eyelids, and there was a strange smell.  
  
Coppery...  
  
...warm.  
  
It was his blood, and it was rushing through his veins, pulsing into his head, behind his eyes, as all the pain he should have felt, rushed along with it. His wrist screamed in fury, the numerous cuts and gashes and everything, they just flared up, burned, stung, screamed...  
  
And he fell.  
  
Again.  
  
He heard Hermoine's horrified shout he felt the dust kick up around his face as she skidded to her knees beside him, pushing his body, trying to move him.  
  
But he could barely feel it, masked by the sheer pain that moved through his veins and slammed into his skull.  
  
And then he didn't feel much at all.  
  
**  
  
One moment he looked dead, then he looked fine, and now he was back to being-looking dead.  
  
Malfoy still breathed though, as hard as it was to find. It came out in shallow gasps, through his mouth and nose.  
  
Hermoine screamed at him, anger laced with tears and pain. She shook his unconscious body, trying to get a rise out of him, "Stupid GIT!" She shouted, as she shook him harder, ignoring the blood that made her hands slick, "You stupid, bloody, fucking GIT!" She screamed even louder.  
  
But no matter how many times she called him a git, or a ponce, or a bloody poofter, or just asshole and bastard, and after all that she still got...nothing.  
  
His eyes remained rolled to the back of his head, the lids barely covering the bloodshot whites of his eyes.  
  
So she stopped -suddenly- just stopped. She didn't scream, cry, or curse, just looked at his unmoving body, and wondered why there were tears on her face.  
  
They were hot, and salty, and mixed with blood, leaving thin pink marks on her cheeks.  
  
She sniffed, angry at Malfoy for getting such a reaction out of her, and swiped at them with her hand, leaving a red streak of Malfoy's blood on her cheek.  
  
It was then, while Hermoine was crying, out of anger, out of confusion, out of just plain frustration, that Hagrid came bounding through the forest.  
  
His voice was loud and reverberated through the forest, bouncing off of trees and stones, "Ye' stupid tree!" He shouted out, "Always makin' a fuss," His feet made the ground vibrate underneath Hermoine as he came closer, "Ach, there will come a time I'll cut ye' down, and then we'll see who's- Hermoine!?!" His voice was tinged with just a bit of hysteria.  
  
Hermoine looked up quickly, as Hagrid ran towards her, she quickly tried to wipe away the tears, "Hagrid!" She said between gasps, "We have to get him to the hospital, we have to or," And she couldn't really finish the sentence -at all- the words just died in her throat and she looked helplessly up to Hagrid.  
  
Hagrid wasted no time; he scooped up Hermoine in one hand, and gingerly picked up Malfoy in the other.  
  
Soon he was trampling out through the forest, trying to ignore Hermoine who was crying softly into his hair.  
  
**  
  
By the time Malfoy was cleaned up and put into a hospital-wing bed, Hermoine had herself under control.  
  
She was reasonably certain that she couldn't cry any more. She couldn't imagine that she had an tears left for that matter. Her eyes were dry, painfully so, like her lips, they felt chapped.  
  
She didn't stay for long in the hospital wing, and to avoid the barrage of questions that Dumbledore trailed her with, she escaped into the stacks of the library.  
  
The library hadn't changed, Hermoine was sure of that at least.  
  
It was still a library, with long rows of dusty hardback books. They held titles such as, Milenfred's Magical Monopodium vol II, and, Porterville's Portitude of Potions. But the for the first time since forever, Hermoine didn't grab a book to read.  
  
She found herself moving deeper into the stacks, looking for a dark corner that she could get lost in and not come out of for a while.  
  
Between stack 243 and 244, lay one such corner, and Hermoine sat down in relief. The floor, cold stone, didn't bother her.  
  
She sat there, her knees drawn up to just under her chin, her fingers splayed against the floor, her hair, still streaked with blood and dirt and littered with leaves, falling across her face.  
  
Her eyes didn't close for a few moments, they stared out straight ahead into nothing, until she felt her hands (unknowingly) come up off the floor, to rest around the bottoms of her legs.  
  
It was then that she closed her eyes.  
  
She didn't wake up until a few hours later.  
  
**  
  
Malfoy woke up to the wrong end of a medi-wand. It was currently emitting a loud squeal, and the tip was sparking dangerously. Still half groggy, and not thinking clearly, Malfoy tried to back away from it, succeeding only in getting himself tangled in the sheets, and tumbling out of the bed.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy!" Pomfry shouted angrily, pushing up her glasses with one finger, and pointing the wand at him menacingly with the other, "You must stay calm!" She yanked him up from the ground, "You mustn't move! You are in very frail condition." Pushing him roughly back into the bed, she tsked and tusked as she made a show of tucking him in, fluffing his pillows, and pulling a blanket up under his chin.  
  
"What-what are you talking about?" Malfoy's head felt muddled, stuffed with tissue. He felt sweaty, hot, feverish, and he struggled as Pomfry attempted to stack more blankets atop of him.  
  
Mrs. Pomfry just tsked some more, and tucked the sides of the blankets into the side of the bed.  
  
The blankets cut into his skin, and Malfoy struggled some more. They felt binding, as if he was being tied down, and Pomfry, held him down.  
  
Malfoy didn't like to be tied down.  
  
He didn't like to be held down.  
  
With screams that reminded him of back home, he pushed Pomfry off of him. He tumbled out of the bed, his bed-robes' sleeves rolled up, and he stopped moving because he was staring at-  
  
His arms....  
  
...Covered with little scars, little red ones that covered almost every inch of his skin.  
  
He looked up at Pomfry, who was staring at him from her position on the floor, a guilty look on her face.  
  
"You...you don't remember?" She asked.  
  
Malfoy shook his head mutely, and as Mrs. Pomfry enveloped him in her arms and tucked him back in bed, Malfoy wondered why the scars reminded of home.  
  
Scars and bindings.  
  
**  
  
The library was dark when Hermoine finally opened her eyes.  
  
She had been fighting against the impulse to wake up for over a half-an- hour, unwilling to trip back into the real world just yet.  
  
In the real world Mum was dead.  
  
Da' was dead.  
  
Harry and Ron were close to it, and Malfoy...  
  
So she tried not to wake up because where she was at the moment was much nicer.  
  
She was back at home, in her room. The covers were tucked up beside her chin, her hair splayed on the pillow. The sun, bright, blindingly so, filtered through the blinds.  
  
It was Sunday. Mum was in the kitchen humming something, and cooking eggs. She could hear dad padding down the hall.  
  
The light coming through the windows became brighter, and Hermoine covered her eyes with a hand, squinting.  
  
Brighter and brighter until it became even hotter still.  
  
And her skin felt like she was burning.  
  
And she couldn't fight not opening her eyes any longer and she was rocketed back to the cubby between stacks 234 and 244.  
  
It was dark, and she was cold.  
  
And it didn't smell like eggs.  
  
**  
  
Malfoy couldn't go back to sleep after Pomfry had left.  
  
He just...couldn't.  
  
After she left, he slipped out of the blankets and rolled up his sleeves.  
  
He tried to remember.  
  
Flashes of green and brown and the whole world shifting, twisting, up and down and side to side.  
  
They came to him as his fingers traced the cuts and barely healed gashes.  
  
His skin glowed red.  
  
Red scars...  
  
...Redisthecolorofbloodasitflowsintohiseyesasthewholeworldmoves...  
  
...They stung.  
  
But they didn't hurt, they just...he passed his fingers over them again...stung.  
  
And then he tried to remember.  
  
**  
  
Hermoine didn't like waking up one bit.  
  
It was hard, painful.  
  
Cold.  
  
But she got up anyway, smoothed down her robes and headed back down the stacks.  
  
**  
  
The memories hit, and afterwards, Malfoy felt incredibly stupid.  
  
Really, really, stupid.  
  
What had he been thinking?  
  
He was finished marveling at the scars. They would heal and if they wouldn't disappear, he would hex them away.  
  
It was what he always did.  
  
So when the memories came, he catalogued them, and pushed them out of his mind.  
  
He wanted to get out.  
  
Something about the hospital wing always bothered him and he didn't want to stay there long.  
  
Pomfry, too busy bustling with medi-potions and heal-hexes to pay mind to her patients. Malfoy slipped out from between the sheets, his feet touching the stone the floor.  
  
He had to get out of here.  
  
Harry and Ron were in the beds next to him.  
  
They had the same cuts.  
  
They had the same bruises.  
  
They had the same...everything.  
  
He had to get out of there.  
  
So he did.  
  
He looked to see if Mrs. Pomfry was around, but she was too busy to notice him leave. So he left. His feet slapped against the stones that made up the hall, and his breath came out in tiny clouds.  
  
His bedclothes billowed between his feet, and the scars began to burn.  
  
And Malfoy wondered if Potter's scar, the little pansy one shaped like a lightening bolt, burned, or stung, or if it was just there, without pain or consequence.  
  
But that thought left him as he rounded the corner and realized he didn't really want to go back to his bed. He didn't really feel like sneaking anywhere, suddenly too tired to be silent. His feet felt leaden, weighed down, and they slapped sickly against the stones as his steps faltered.  
  
He didn't want to go back to his room and wake everyone up and have Crabbe and Goyle look at him in shock, at all the little cuts and scars that bore evidence to what he did.  
  
And for who.  
  
So he found himself turning around, slipping down the stone steps into the library.  
  
And crashing ungainly into Hermoine.  
  
Briefly, as Malfoy fell to the ground, he wondered exactly where chance lived, so after all of this, he could hunt down chance and kill it.  
  
Because lately, chance was really getting on his nerves.  
  
**  
  
Hermoine cursed under breath when she felt her body connect with someone else's. She had been so wrapped up in herself; she didn't bother notice the other person.  
  
Now, she thought angrily, not only was she caught out of her room past curfew, the way the guy (she was sure it was a guy) fell, she'd probably caused some damage.  
  
She felt her legs tangle with the other persons, and she heard him curse under his breath.  
  
And then she recognized his voice.  
  
Oh.  
  
**  
  
"Bloody hell!" He finally managed to get out, despite the pressure of Hermoine against his chest, "Do you purposely do this, or are you just blind?"  
  
Hermoine was looking at him like he was a ghost. Her eyes were wide as saucers, and her mouth was slightly open.  
  
And then Hermoine slapped him.  
  
Hard.  
  
She straddled his chest, her hand raised for another slap  
  
"What in the bloody HELL-"  
  
And then another.  
  
Finally, Malfoy had enough, and he wrapped an ankle around Granger's and twisted his body, until he trapped her, struggling, beneath him. His hands found Granger's wrists, and held them down.  
  
"You bloody, stupid, idiotic-" Granger was cursing as she struggled underneath him, "How dare-"  
  
"How dare I? YOU slapped me. For something that YOU did." His hair fell across his face, and he ducked his head a bit to move it out of his eyes.  
  
Granger read this wrong, and struggled some more.  
  
"What are you doing?" Malfoy whispered savagely at her, suddenly aware that it was very much nighttime, and they were both very much past curfew.  
  
"Trying-" She muttered,"-to get away from you."  
  
"Maybe think about that before you slap next time."  
  
"Well...you kissed me!"  
  
"And that has to do with slapping me?"  
  
"Well..." And Hermoine stopped moving for a second to think about that, "...Yeah."  
  
Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, something that would be mean, or insulting, or witty...at least something witty.  
  
But before he could think of something, a wave of dizziness and nausea broadsided him and left him breathless.  
  
He felt his arms go weak. They felt as if they were going to break.  
  
And he fell.  
  
He landed atop of the mud blood, unconscious.  
  
**  
  
Read, review…. You'll get an egg! They're good for you! I swear, and they crack real funny on lil' brother's heads…  
  
-dafnap 


	9. Redux

Title: Curiosity  
  
Rating: R language and sexuality…  
  
Spoilers: Books  
  
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm….  
  
Summary: Draco, pissed off and not really wanting answers, just a good nights rest, has to deal with Hermoine first  
  
A/N: Screw tests, this is much more fun…  
  
**  
  
before  
  
**  
  
"What are you doing?" Malfoy whispered savagely at her, suddenly aware that it was very much nighttime, and they were both very much past curfew.  
  
"Trying-" She muttered,"-to get away from you."  
  
"Maybe think about that before you slap next time."  
  
"Well...you kissed me!"  
  
"And that has to do with slapping me?"  
  
"Well..." And Hermoine stopped moving for a second to think about that, "...Yeah."  
  
Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, something that would be mean, or insulting, or witty...at least something witty.  
  
But before he could think of something, a wave of dizziness and nausea broadsided him and left him breathless.  
  
He felt his arms go weak. They felt as if they were going to break.  
  
And he fell.  
  
He landed atop of the mud blood, unconscious.  
  
**  
  
now  
  
**  
  
Hermoine was in a situation.  
  
Currently, she was trapped beneath a very not-awake Malfoy. He was breathing, this she was certain, but he wasn't doing much else.  
  
And he was heavy.  
  
She never realized how heavy eighteen year olds could be. He didn't look heavy; he always looked lean, but never this heavy.  
  
She was almost unable to breath. Almost; she exhaled in shallow breaths, afraid to do anything.  
  
He wasn't dead.  
  
But he felt like it.  
  
She sucked in a breath, and placed her hands on both of his shoulders. As she let out her breath she pushed, rolling him over and off her. He landed with a thump, but did not move.  
  
Hermoine pushed herself up, and tucked in her knees.  
  
Malfoy still didn't move.  
  
Hermoine, struck by the deja vu briefly, reached out with a careful hand to shake him.  
  
Nothing.  
  
The scars, from the cuts and the bruises, glowed dully in the little light that filtered into the room from the moon.  
  
She shook him harder.  
  
Nothing.  
  
So she did the only thing she could think of: she slapped him.  
  
Hard.  
  
**  
  
Malfoy, for the second time that day, woke up to searing, pain. It began at his right cheekbone and flared from there. The pain, like the wake left by a droplet of water, radiated outwards, leaving behind a blinding, pounding headache.  
  
He sat up straight, a hand on his cheek, "Fuck." He shouted, "FUCK!"  
  
That's when he first spotted Granger, already on her feet, her arms crossed, the look already pointed his way.  
  
And...and what was he doing on the floor?  
  
He tried to push himself up, but he only managed to get dizzy. The room spun with such ferocity that he almost ended up back on the floor, if it hadn't been for Granger.  
  
She caught him.  
  
She almost buckled under his weight, but was able to hold him up until he found his balance and feebly pushed her away.  
  
"What did you do to me?" He hissed, trying to focus on one point of the room, "What the fuck did you do?"  
  
Granger just crossed her arms again and looked at him crossly, "What did I do?" She stepped closer to Malfoy, "What did I do?" Her face was close to his, but she didn't notice, "This is all your fault," She poked him in the chest, "You made like a narcoleptic, and you fell on me."  
  
Malfoy couldn't find an answer to that, and decided his best course of action would be just to limp away.  
  
And limp like a gimp he did.  
  
But he didn't get far, Granger's hand flew out, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him to face her, "Where do you think you're going?"  
  
He looked at her as if she were stupid, "Away...more specifically, away from you." He cocked his head to the side, "That is what you wanted, correct?"  
  
Hermoine didn't answer; she looked down at her feet.  
  
Did she? Is that what she really wanted: To have yet another person leave her alone?  
  
She looked up at him; her eyes back to the blank brown that sent a cold front down Malfoy's spine.  
  
"That's right...go." She turned away from him, her arms crossed, looking back into the stacks, waiting for him to leave, "Just...leave."  
  
And suddenly Malfoy lost the urge. He couldn't bring himself to limp away. Actually, now that he thought of it, he was a bit pissed.  
  
How dare she...  
  
And a bit curious as well.  
  
...What would she do if he kissed her again?  
  
Try as he might, he couldn't fight the urge to open his mouth and say something stupid.  
  
He remembered quiet clearly what curiosity had gotten him into. It had thrown him into Granger's little melodrama, and if he gave into curiosity again, he probably wouldn't be able to escape.  
  
But he couldn't stop himself.  
  
With a tone that was a combination of hard and calm, he spoke, "What the bloody hell is wrong with you Granger?"  
  
She spun around to him angrily, her eyes dropping the facade of indifference, "What's wrong with me? If you forgot, let me enlighten you." She began to move closer to him.  
  
Her body thrummed with energy, a combination of nervous excitement and righteous anger, "You," she poked him the chest and Malfoy was struck with deja vu, "Were the one that hit me, if I recall." She poked him again, "And you were the one that sent me all those mean letters when you knew, you knew that she had died." She stepped closer and poked him again, "It was you that kissed me, and you that got yourself caught in the whooping willow. To have any illusions about yourself Malfoy, you are," She poked him one last time, "A stupid git if you even imagine that any of this is my fault."  
  
Malfoy barred his teeth, "I did not know that your mum had died. If I did-"  
  
"What-You would be more considerate? Malfoy, don't fool yourself, you are not in the least considerate."  
  
"-I wouldn't have sent that letter," He thought for a moment, "At least not right then anyway."  
  
Hermoine glared at him, and then returned to her deconstruction of the bookcase with her eyes, "Whatever you would have done is too late. Now make yourself useful and leave," She waved her hand, "Or die, whatever."  
  
As the words left her mouth, Hermoine knew it was a mistake, in fact even before she finished 'whatever' she felt herself being propelled against a bookcase.  
  
With Malfoy's right arm, the one that didn't throb with pain as much as the left, he pinned her against the books, a couple of flimsy hardbacks already toppling to the floor with a clatter.  
  
He leaned in, his voice somewhere between a whisper and growl, with a hint of..."Is that what you want, Granger?" He tightened his hold on her robes, pulling her face closer to his own, "Do you want me dead?"  
  
She didn't know how to answer so she nodded dumbly.  
  
Something sounded like a laugh, but Hermoine would never be sure, escaped from his lips, and despite the pain that resonated deep within his arm, he tightened his hold even more.  
  
"Like your father?" He whispered, and Hermoine struggled, her arms pushing weakly against his chest. Draco leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear, his breath sneaking it's way into her brain as whispered again, "Like your...mum?"  
  
Hermoine stopped struggling.  
  
He had hit a nerve, an open, bleeding sore of a nerve.  
  
He pulled back slightly, his nose just inches from hers, his eyes trying their hardest to break into hers.  
  
So shifted her gaze until it was focused solely on Magical Ointments: Volume III. The book had a red hardbound cover, and the pages were tipped with gold and-  
  
-Malfoy's lips were hovering just above her own, his breath, taunt and cold, tickling her nose.  
  
"Get over it." He whispered just before she tilted her head and his lips touched hers, just before his tongue snaked out and pressed against her teeth, just before Hermoine brought her free hand up, and around Malfoy's neck, pushing his head closer, his tongue closer, him closer.  
  
**  
  
The kiss didn't last long because Malfoy pushed her away, is hands finding her shoulders between the tangle of arms and legs and robes.  
  
He pushed her away, stepping back, holding her at arms length.  
  
He looked confused, worried, the anger was gone, replaced with..."What are you doing?"  
  
Hermoine, confused, bothered, and a bit put out, looked at him, cross, "Kissing you."  
  
Is hands dropped from her shoulder where they had been making deep grooves, he turned away from her, his shoulders hunched, "I thought so," He looked back at her, "Why?"  
  
She shrugged, nervous, unable to find an answer, "I didn't really have a choice now, did I? I mean, you kissed me."  
  
He cocked his head to the side, "No, Granger, if I recall correctly, you," He pointed at her with a scar-lined finger, "Kissed me."  
  
"No-" Hermoine began, than stopped, thinking back to just moments prior, "But-"  
  
Malfoy raised an eyebrow.  
  
She sighed, a petulant sound more fitting for a small child than an eighteen-year-old girl, "Because I wanted to." She answered lamely.  
  
He laughed, it was low and bitter, and pulled the robe around his shoulders tighter.  
  
It was cold.  
  
He looked Hermoine, noticed her flushed cheeks, and the way her hand shook as she clasped the ends of her robe, and the flash of insight hit him like a two-ton bus.  
  
But he didn't say anything. He just looked at her, crossed his arms, and watched her some more.  
  
Hermoine felt her stomach twitch, and she wiped her mouth with a sweaty hand, "What are you looking at?"  
  
He sighed, anger mixed with frustration, "You. I don't get it."  
  
"Get what?"  
  
"What the big deal is."  
  
She looked at him, her turn to be confused, "Excuse me?"  
  
"Why do you care so fucking much?"  
  
"About..." She trailed off, waiting for him to finish her sentence.  
  
Malfoy didn't give her the pleasure, just shrugged his shoulders, "So what, your parents are dead, your two best friends are vegetables, and what do you do?" He waved a hand, as if including the library as whole, "You come here, to cry? Bleeding childish if you ask me."  
  
"Childish? Malfoy, childish is when someone accosts you on the halls for not apologizing about a bloody accident, childish is someone who throws a fit when he feels like he's being ignored. Childish, Malfoy, is someone like you." She laughed bitterly, her arms around her waist as if she were cold.  
  
Malfoy felt like laughing he really did, "I guess you could say we're both acting like lil' twits then." He tipped his head, "Fine, Granger, I'll leave you to your mourning, I've got better things to do." He began to walk away, a slight limp marring his gait.  
  
It was Hermoine who spoke last, as he passed the threshold of the library, back into the halls of Hogwart's.  
  
She didn't think he heard her, and for that, momentarily, she was grateful, "Fuck you Malfoy." Se whispered, slipping down to the floor again, her arms gripping tighter her shoulders as she hunkered down, "Fuck you."  
  
And then she cried, she felt awfully pathetic, sitting in between stacks 234 and 244, with her robe wrapped around her knees.  
  
She felt...stupid.  
  
Useless.  
  
**  
  
Malfoy wasn't feeling to good himself.  
  
In fact, the more he limped, the more his scars flared up, and he felt the weirdest dizzying sensation. It snuck up his back, slowly, until he was faced with full frontal vertigo.  
  
It was there, on the stairwell leading back to the medical wing, that he was hit was something other than vertigo or dizziness, or anything else.  
  
He was hit with...guilt.  
  
Surprisingly, he was getting used to the feeling, the guilt, the anger, the confusion, it was all rolled up into a tight, hard, ball of twine that rested neatly in the pit of his stomach.  
  
What had he been thinking?  
  
This was Granger, mud blood, waste of time. Not worth the energy and the self-hate that he was putting into all of this.  
  
On the other hand...  
  
There was no other hand, Malfoy slammed his good hand into the wall, out of frustration, out of anger.  
  
There was no other hand...just-  
  
It was then that Malfoy realized that his hand was bleeding. He hissed in pain and brought the errant knuckle to his mouth, trying to get the blood off.  
  
It tasted nasty.  
  
Metallic  
  
He winced, and made his way back to his cot and under the covers, grateful that Mrs. Pomfry had fallen asleep on a pile of books, grateful that Potter and Weasley were too far gone to care, and grateful that blankets and pillows didn't have the ability to talk back, and didn't hurt him back when he punched them.  
  
**  
  
tbc…  
  
**  
  
  
  
I really want to be British, so I can get away with saying bloody hell all the damn time….sigh….  
  
-dafnap  
  
read, review, and all will be right with the world….well, except for the emus, they will never be right…. 


	10. ...and Giggles

Title: Curiosity  
  
Rating: R language and sexuality…  
  
Spoilers: Books  
  
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm…  
  
Summary: Hermoine decides enough is enough. She wants answers so she's going to get them, even if she has to hit Malfoy a few times…and she has no problem with that.  
  
A/N: Screw tests, this is much more fun…  
  
**  
  
before  
  
**  
  
Malfoy wasn't feeling to good himself.  
  
In fact, the more he limped, the more his scars flared up, and he felt the weirdest dizzying sensation. It snuck up his back, slowly, until he was faced with full frontal vertigo.  
  
It was there, on the stairwell leading back to the medical wing, that he was hit was something other than vertigo or dizziness, or anything else.  
  
He was hit with...guilt.  
  
Surprisingly, he was getting used to the feeling, the guilt, the anger, the confusion, it was all rolled up into a tight, hard, ball of twine that rested neatly in the pit of his stomach.  
  
What had he been thinking?  
  
This was Granger, mud blood, waste of time. Not worth the energy and the self-hate that he was putting into all of this.  
  
On the other hand...  
  
There was no other hand, Malfoy slammed his good hand into the wall, out of frustration, out of anger.  
  
There was no other hand...just-  
  
It was then that Malfoy realized that his hand was bleeding. He hissed in pain and brought the errant knuckle to his mouth, trying to get the blood off.  
  
It tasted nasty.  
  
Metallic.  
  
He winced, and made his way back to his cot and under the covers, grateful that Mrs. Pomfry had fallen asleep on a pile of books, grateful that Potter and Weasley were too far gone to care, and grateful that blankets and pillows didn't have the ability to talk back, and didn't hurt him back when he punched them.  
  
**  
  
now  
  
**  
  
Hermoine had finally returned to her room to see it as empty as before. The house-elves had already made the bed, and the sheets were back to their straight, clean lines.  
  
She wanted to break something.  
  
She sat down on the bed, slipping off her shoes with her toes and wriggling them out of their socks. She tucked her feet under the covers, and punched her pillow a few times.  
  
It would have to do.  
  
Even after her little nap in the library, she still felt tired, drained.  
  
Only this time, after her eyes closed and her breathing settled into an even rhythm, she did not dream.  
  
**  
  
Malfoy woke up to Mrs. Pomfry muttering under her breath about insolent boys.  
  
When he dared crack open an eyelid, he saw her moving around the med-wing, cataloguing potions and spells. Malfoy immediately closed the one eyes, not having the energy to deal with her at the moment.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, drop the act, I know you are awake." She spoke harshly, turning around to face him, tapping her wand against her hand, "And I am quite aware of your nocturnal activities."  
  
Malfoy groaned, as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.  
  
"I do not understand why you insist of exasperating your condition any more than necessary. If you insist on continuing your little midnight adventures, I will be forced to consult with Dumbledore, do you want that?"  
  
Malfoy shook his head, but groaned again when it felt as if his brain was about to implode.  
  
That did not feel good.  
  
Pomfry, suddenly aware of his discomfort came rushing up, her wand already emitting a healing charm, "There, there," She muttered, patting his head with a cool towel, "You see?" She continued, as she fussed and bustled, "That's what you get when you don't listen to doctor's orders."  
  
No, answered Draco to himself, You get slapped, poked, and kissed. All perfectly good reasons for tremendous headaches in the morning.  
  
After Mrs. Pomfry finished her ministrations she left Draco to himself.  
  
He sighed, and shifted a bit in his bed. The covers were much warmer than those back in his room; the pillows were much fluffier as well.  
  
But he was uncomfortable. The pillow was stiff, the blankets...not warm enough.  
  
He was cold.  
  
His teeth didn't chatter, his toes didn't curl but the knot in is stomach felt dipped in ice.  
  
He looked around for Mrs. Pomfry, maybe she could get him more blankets, or maybe a better pillow...something...anything.  
  
But Pomfry had disappeared into her office, probably buried under medical texts and healing potions.  
  
Potter and Weasley weren't much help.  
  
He considered, briefly, grabbing their blankets, they didn't seem to need them, what were they going to do?  
  
Fight back?  
  
Light streamed in through the window and the whorls and eddies of dust were revealed. He caught glimpses of brooms flying by; bright, Gryffindor colors that hurt his eyes.  
  
He was...freezing.  
  
He called for Madam Pomfry once more, but no one heard him. He glanced at the dial on the wall, and bugger it was lunch.  
  
That would explain the gnawing knot in his stomach.  
  
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing slightly at the feel of the stone.  
  
Cold.  
  
The knot, Draco convinced himself, was from hunger. He was hungry, that's all, just....hungry.  
  
**  
  
Hermoine woke up to the sun streaming through the windows. The heavy curtains that she had drawn over them were open now, tucked in their little holders. A House-Elf had been through. Her shoes, dirty and blood stained last night, shone with black polish and her torn clothing had been replaced with a school uniform.  
  
She yawned, feeling her muscles protest as she stretched and twisted her back. A dull headache, a seemingly permanent fixture since...it had happen...was already forming. It pounded dully behind and between her eyes. She groaned and kneaded the muscles of her neck.  
  
No good.  
  
She resigned herself to getting dressed, pulling on the school-issued stockings, the knee-length skirt, the white polo and her Gryffindor vest. She smoothed down her hair, the curls and tangles lying limply on her shoulders.  
  
For some reason she was exhausted, more tired now than before.  
  
His tongue pressed against her teeth, pushing, forcing-  
  
The thought came unbidden and Hermoine cursed under her breath, not now, not after-  
  
She forced his tongue back with her own, bringing her hand around to pull him closer, to bring everything closer-  
  
She slammed her hand, palm open, against the table a resounding slap, hoping the sound would snap her out of this, out of-  
  
His mouth was warm, hot and his breath fell wetly against her cheek-  
  
GODDAMN IT!  
  
She growled something unintelligible under hear breath.  
  
This had to stop.  
  
It had to.  
  
Malfoy...Malfoy did something to her, she was sure of it.  
  
She had so many questions, and not enough answers to go with them.  
  
Why had Malfoy sent her the letter?  
  
Why had he been caught in the Whooping Willow?  
  
Why had he kissed her?  
  
She had a few options open to her. She could mope around, crying or not crying, over Potter and Ron and Mum and Dad. She could confront Malfoy, find out why he was being such a sod, but that, she feared, would lead to more snogging.  
  
Snogging, Hermoine had quickly learned, led to other bad things, especially with Malfoys.  
  
What would Ron think?  
  
What would Harry think?  
  
But she had to do something.  
  
This was ridiculous, all this moping around. She had been too late to save her parents, too late to do anything useful for them.  
  
But Harry...Ron, they were still breathing.... there could still be time.  
  
So Hermoine grabbed a sweater and headed out the door; she was determined to get answers. If Malfoy wouldn't give them to her, she would sock him good, the sodding bastard.  
  
And no snogging.  
  
Definitely NO snogging.  
  
**  
  
"And where do you think you are going young man?" Madam Pomfry's voice rang out from her office.  
  
Draco Malfoy, currently in the process of sneaking out, cursed under his breath and stopped.  
  
"I heard that!" Her voice rang out again. She came out of her office, her arms crossed, and irate look on her face, "Really, Mr. Malfoy, one would think that such a bright boy would learn quickly." She shook her finger at him, "So answer the question, Mr. Malfoy, where do you think you're going?"  
  
He tried to think of a good excuse, but he realized he had none; they all seemed to have escaped him during the night, "Uh-um..."  
  
"I imagine," Madam Pomfry continued for him as she walked towards him, "You would want to be heading back to class, since you are conscious and quite able to move about. Am I correct?" She looked at him expectantly, awaiting an answer to her rhetorical question.  
  
"Uh...um..."  
  
"I thought so." She clapped her hands, her eyes glimmering with mischief, "Let's get you dressed and out of here, I wouldn't want to keep your teachers waiting."  
  
Before Malfoy knew it he was back in his school robes, his book satchel his hand, and Madam Pomfry's foot on his butt kicking him out.  
  
Well.  
  
He looked down at himself.  
  
Madam Pomfry had hexed away his scars and his skin was back to normal. His robes hung a bit loose, and he still felt a little dizzy when he walked, but all in all he looked fine.  
  
On the outside at least.  
  
Inside, he felt like a mess of open nerves, all of them firing at random times.  
  
Guilt. Worry. Confusion.  
  
He slammed his fist into the wall.  
  
Mud blood.  
  
Fucking mud blood.  
  
**  
  
Hermoine was surprised to see Malfoy's bed empty, all straightened out and unslept in.  
  
She spun on her heel, looking around trying to see where the slimy git had hidden himself. She was half-surprised that she hadn't ran into him yet, both literally and figuratively.  
  
Harry and Ron were still in bed though.  
  
That hadn't changed.  
  
They still breathed, and still did not do much of anything.  
  
At all.  
  
She spun on her heel and left the room, unable to deal with what was growing in the pit of her stomach. Malfoy knew the answers; she had tried to convince herself of that.  
  
He was somewhere around here, and she would find him.  
  
She needed answers.  
  
Now.  
  
**  
  
Draco managed to get through Potions without too much trouble. Crabbe and Goyle didn't seem to care that he had been missing for a day, Pansy was fawning all over him, constantly asking him how he felt, was there anything she could do. As for Snape, he wore a disapproving look on his face throughout the class; he must have known exactly why Draco had been missing.  
  
The growing pile of homework that he had missed was more than enough to push the annoying Granger out of his mind for a while.  
  
That was until he ran into her in the hall after potions.  
  
Again.  
  
**  
  
Hermoine grabbed hold of Malfoy's collar as he passed her in the halls. Wrenching her arm, she pulled him into the shadows were she held onto his robe.  
  
"Hello Malfoy." She whispered, her voice a dangerous mix of anger and calm, "How are you?"  
  
Malfoy, not used to being pushed around by random small-framed girls. Especially Mud bloods. Especially Mud bloods.  
  
"What do you want?" He hissed back, looking around to see if anyone saw him. It was bad enough that rumors were going around about him, Harry, and the whooping willow, but he did not need to add Granger to the mix.  
  
"Answers." Hermoine's hand tightened its grip on Malfoy's robes.  
  
"Is this how your mud blood parents raised you? Is slamming random persons against the wall polite from whatever place you came from"  
  
"I really don't have time for your nonsense, so just answer the question."  
  
"You didn't bloody ask me a question!" He grabbed her wrist with a hand in an effort to make her let go. "Ask your stupid question than leave me alone."  
  
Hermoine slammed him against the wall, trying to get herself, and him, under control.  
  
And then she couldn't hold up the facade anymore, her arms felt tired, she just wanted to stop with...with all the fighting.  
  
Hermoine suddenly let go of his robes and stepped back, suddenly nervous, suddenly unsure.  
  
"Just...tell me...tell me what's going on."  
  
Malfoy, smoothing down his robes leant back against the wall that he had been previously pushed up against, "You'll have to be more specific than that."  
  
"I just wanted a few answers." Hermoine felt tired all of a sudden; she had just woken up and now she was exhausted.  
  
Students were making their way to their next class, and the halls rang with the sounds of rustling bags and feet.  
  
Draco looked just past Hermoine, watching as students walked by their little alcove. He looked back at Hermoine who shifted from foot to foot, seemingly uncomfortable in her own skin.  
  
He knew what she was asking, and he didn't want to answer.  
  
If he told her, then everything....  
  
Everything...  
  
...Would change.  
  
The late bell rang, and suddenly the bustling halls were empty again; everything was quiet. Draco still could not think of anything to say, and the thousands of bitter, angry, spiteful remarks that were on the tip of his tongue faded away along with his words.  
  
He sighed, looking down at his feet.  
  
"What do you want?" He asked, his voice devoid of anything Hermoine could recognize. He seemed tired.  
  
Stretched thin.  
  
"Why-Why did you send me that letter?"  
  
"Which one?"  
  
Hermoine grimaced, "You know what I'm talking about. Why?"  
  
"I-" He tried telling the truth, just to see what it was like, "-I guess it was because I thought that you should know."  
  
They both fell silent and Hermoine tried to see what he really meant. She looked into his eyes and tried to pry him apart.  
  
Nothing was forth coming, and Hermoine gave up trying.  
  
She looked down at her hands, watched them with curiosity as they twisted among themselves.  
  
Why? She kept asking herself, Why is he doing this?  
  
She gave up trying to figure him out; she looked back at him, "Tell me why you were at the whooping willows."  
  
Draco felt his chest constrict, and something bubbled up against his throat, and he knew that he didn't want to answer, but he did anyway.  
  
Because then she would know...  
  
"I was curious...I wanted...I wanted to find out what happened."  
  
...what you really are.  
  
Hermoine glanced back up at him, "Curious? You were curious?"  
  
Draco nodded, trying to avoid looking Granger in the eyes.  
  
She laughed, a low, lilting sound that made his ears ring. She was doubled over now, clutching her stomach, until she plopped onto the floor and continued to laugh.  
  
Draco felt his face turn red and anger bubbling up into his throat, "Why are you laughing?" He whispered and when she didn't answer he slammed his fist into the wall beside her head. He leaned into her face, "Explain. The. Humor."  
  
She tried to tame her grin into a frown, but she had frowned so long that it was tired, and she was tired, and all she could do was smile some more. In between fits of giggle she managed to get out, "It's funny! It's just-"  
  
"What is so funny?"  
  
"Isn't curiosity what got us into this mess in the first place?"  
  
She looked up at him, her eyes glinting with humor and charm and wit and sarcasm and everything he had ever come to expect from the little mud blood girl and her sharpened verbal claws.  
  
Her smile.... dazzling.  
  
It broadsided him, and he felt something in him break.  
  
It was...infectious.  
  
Cathartic.  
  
The tension, the anger, the strange knot in his stomach, unraveled and fell apart.  
  
And then it bubbled up into his throat and before he knew it he collapsed beside her, laughing and wiping tears away from his eyes.  
  
The laughter had stopped for a moment and Hermoine and Draco looked at each other, watching as the other tried to get their faces under control.  
  
Of course, it didn't work (these things never did), and the giggles and snorts came back even harder.  
  
It was nice... they both realized, most likely at the same time.... just to laugh.  
  
The fit of laughter ended finally, with both of them gasping for breath, trying to pull in as much oxygen as possible into their tired lungs.  
  
Draco couldn't remember the last time he had laughed like that...not even when Potter or Weasley did something stupid (per usual). He was surprised that it had comes so easy for him, and was surprised how good it felt.  
  
For Hermoine, however, she remembered the exactly the last time she had laughed like that, the torrid storm of giggles and hiccups that ended when the need from air became so great that it came down to laughing or living.  
  
She remembered exactly when.  
  
It had been with Harry and Ron. Harry had said something stupid, leaving Ron and Hermoine to look at each other knowingly. For some reason whatever Harry had said (she couldn't remember) had been too funny for Hermoine and Ron and they had been hit by the storm.  
  
And so, after Draco and Hermoine had stopped laughing and began to breath again, Hermoine felt the laughter leave and the sodding tears come back.  
  
Draco was surprised then, that Hermoine began to cry, tiny little hitching sobs that wracked her shoulders as she tried to hide the tears from him.  
  
Draco found his voice back, hoarse and sore from laughing, "What-what's wrong?" He asked, unsure of what to do. She couldn't answer him unable to form words out of the hitches in her breath.  
  
Draco watched dumbly.  
  
Should he...  
  
His arm came up, floating just above her hitching back.  
  
Could he...  
  
He let his hand drop onto her back, his fingers unconsciously moving in small circles.  
  
"Shh..." He managed to get out, feeling very out of place, "It's-It's going to be ok..."  
  
**  
  
Hermoine felt his hands on her back and she wondered for the hundredth time what in the bloody hell was he doing?  
  
She looked up at him; he was slouched against the wall, looking glum and confused, the oddest expression on his face, "Sorry," She sniffed, wiping her nose, "Memories."  
  
He nodded, as if he understood but Hermoine had a feeling that he didn't. She felt the question on the tip of her tongue and she let it escape.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" She asked, finally.  
  
He looked at her, but did not really see her. She wondered why it would take him so long to think of an answer.  
  
"I guess-" He began, "I guess because...I don't know."  
  
Hermoine felt her eyebrow go up in surprise, "Malfoy-"  
  
"Draco."  
  
"What?"  
  
"My name is Draco. Malfoy is what everyone calls my father."  
  
"So-?"  
  
"So don't call me that." He sounded angry, withdrawing his hand from her back, and Hermoine felt the cold absence.  
  
His hand had been...warm.  
  
She turned to him, "So you want me to call you Draco?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
Hermoine let her headrest on her arms, which were wrapped around her knees, "Fine then. Draco. Answer this one last question, and I won't bother you again."  
  
Draco snorted but nodded for her to continue.  
  
"Tell me then...What the FUCK is going on?!?"  
  
Draco, who had been examining his feet for some answers looked up at her in surprise, "What? What did I do to deserve that tone?"  
  
"You're being too goddamn nice, that's what!"  
  
"Excuse me?!? You're angry at me for being nice?!? Tell me, Granger, what in the BLOODY blue hell is wrong with you NOW?"  
  
Hermoine pushed herself up off the floor, turning to point her finger (again) in Malfoy's face, "You-Malfoy- are bloody impossible to understand. For six years, SIX YEARS, you where a horrible prat who made our lives a living hell, and now, suddenly, you're all comforting and considerate and nice. WHAT THE FUCK is going on?!?"  
  
"Nothing! Nothing is going on!"  
  
"Bullshit, I don't believe you. You've got something riding on this, you know something."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm just trying to be nice-"  
  
"BULLSHIT!" She shouted again, "This is not you, Draco Malfoy is a malicious git, not an altruist! So tell me, Malfoy, what do you have riding on this?"  
  
He stared at her dumbly at first during her tirade, but when she finished, he too pushed himself up off the floor. What did she want from him? He tried to be nice, and now he assumed from Granger's reaction that it did not suit him. "Fine! Fuck this shit! You don't want me to be nice, fine, I can do not nice."  
  
And he slapped her, open palm, in the face.  
  
She pulled back, her hand already flying up to the darkening red spot on her cheek.  
  
As for Draco, he withdrew his hand, and stepped back, his eyes cold.  
  
Her face, the shocked, what-the-fuck-was-going-on face, chilling him to the bone.  
  
"What-" Hermoine managed to get out through clenched teeth, "-Was that for?"  
  
"That's how you wanted me to be," He snarled, before turning away from her.  
  
He stepped back into the hall and hitched his book satchel onto his shoulder. He looked at her, his eyes boring into her own, a grim smile on his face:  
  
"Right?"  
  
**  
  
His palm stung from where it had connected with her face.  
  
It throbbed a bit; her cheek had been bony.  
  
Cold.  
  
And now his hand burned, vibrating slightly like a tuning fork.  
  
He really, really wanted to throw up.  
  
He made it to his next class, Arthimacy, without hitting any other mud blood girls.  
  
What had he been thinking...what the...  
  
**  
  
...FUCK!  
  
Hermoine really wanted to hit something.  
  
Actually, not just anything.... a specific someone to be more precise.  
  
That blonde-haired, blue-eyes, sodding piece of SHIT.  
  
She had tried to catch up with the bastard, so she could give him a few choice words before she rendered him impotent, but Draco-Malfoy- had already run off somewhere.  
  
She was left, then, pissed off, angry, and a little bit annoyed.  
  
She didn't know, however, where this annoyance was directed to, herself or Malfoy?  
  
He had been trying, she realized it now, to be nice, in his horrible, fucked-up Malfoy way. He had hardly gone out of his way to purposefully hurt her.  
  
He had tried to comfort her twice now.  
  
Fuck, he had tried to kiss her twice now.  
  
Jesus, she thought, things just keep getting worse and worse and worse and don't seem to be getting any better.  
  
She really wanted to hit something and the wall was looking like a very attractive candidate.  
  
But she didn't.  
  
Rather, she kicked it a few times in effort to blow off some steam. She only managed, however, to hurt her toe.  
  
Bloody Malfoy. She cursed under breath, Bloody wall.  
  
She knew now what she had to do, and it pained her to even think it.  
  
She had to apologize.  
  
She sighed in frustration.  
  
She had to apologize to Draco Malfoy.  
  
Goddamnit, she thought as she made her way out of the alcove, this sucks.  
  
**  
  
Malfoy was half-way to his next class when he felt the mud bloods familiar hand wrap around his robes.  
  
Oh no, he thought as he was pulled into yet another alcove, Not again.  
  
He turned to her, hands already crossing over his chest, "Fuck, Granger, do you have a bloody death wish?"  
  
She scowled at him, her hands on her hips, her nose crinkling in the cutest way, "Is that what you want to do Malfoy, kill me?"  
  
"No, but you seem to have an unhealthy fascination with pain."  
  
"Look, Malfoy, I'm sick and tired of-"  
  
"Is this what you tracked me down, again, for? You want to scream at me some more? Didn't get it out of your system the first time around?"  
  
"Mal-"  
  
He waved his hand to cut her off, "Let's just get to the part where you poke me in the chest, call me something involving the world 'bloody' and 'shite'; get in a little snog, and go home. Ok?"  
  
"MALFOY!"  
  
"Or we can just go straight to the part where I slap you." He grinned, "You want that? You seem to get off on pain-"  
  
She slapped him, hard. His ears were ringing, his cheek flared red, and the sound of breaking glass seemed to penetrate his brain.  
  
Through the dizziness and the lancing pain he found himself impressed.  
  
Good arm, he thought as he was pushed against the wall (again).  
  
Hermoine smiled through gritted teeth, "I decided to skip that part, let's just go straight to part where I get what I want."  
  
Malfoy grinned, unable to help himself. This was so easy.  
  
So very easy.  
  
"If it involves coco-butter and a feather tipped wand, be my guest-" Hermoine's hand cut him off, covering his mouth as she leaned in.  
  
"Just. Shut. Up." She growled, "I'm trying to apologize."  
  
Malfoy tore his mouth away from her hand, "Is that what you were doing? Color me confused, I thought you were PHYSCIALLY ASSAULTING ME!" He shouted.  
  
"ARGH!" Hermoine let go of Malfoy's robes, "That's it! I am sick and tired of all this bickering, just answer my question, ok? That's it! Give me an answer and I'll bloody well LEAVE YOU ALONE!!!"  
  
Surprisingly Malfoy didn't shout anything back.  
  
They looked at each other dumbly, both trying to figure the other out.  
  
Stupid bloody, fucking, mud blood...  
  
...How dare he?!? How dare…  
  
…She looks so goddamn hot. Bloody distracting....  
  
...the way he constantly fucking argues, I just want a bloody...  
  
...answer her. Fine, she wants an answer; I'll give her...  
  
...Something, just anything, just give me...  
  
Draco broke their gaze, shifting his gaze to study the tips of his shoes.  
  
"An answer. You want an answer. You won't like it Granger, and that's why I really don't want to tell you-"  
  
"Why? Why can't you tell me anything..." Her voice lowered, "Is it Voldemort?"  
  
Draco winced, shaking his head, "No, that's the thing Granger," He looked back up at her and she was struck at how honest he looked, "It's not Voldemort, it's not Dementors, it's-"  
  
"Stop stalling Malfoy," Hermoine sighed, trying to get her voice under control, "Just-" She looked down at her feet, "Tell me."  
  
He wanted to snap at her, to say something cruel because that was what his old self would have done.  
  
He wouldn't have been so nervous.  
  
He wouldn't have been at a loss for words.  
  
He wouldn't have cared.  
  
But he was nervous; he was at a loss for words, and bloody, fucking, blue- balled, hell, he did care.  
  
"-They were stupid, Hermoine," She looked up at him, trying read into what he was saying, trying to look under the double meaning that weren't there, "They were stupid. Just bloody stupid," He sighed and dug his toe into the ground, and tried to avoid her eyes, "That's why I was at the whooping willows. I wanted to know, Hermoine," He looked up at her, his eyes pleading and open and so goddamn truthful, "I don't know why," His voice turned bitter and he turned away from her gaze, "It's all your bloody fault Granger."  
  
He found that it suddenly became hard to breath...She was looking at him with here big, brown-somanyfuckingcolors-eyes that just begged him to take it back and give her something solid to hang on to.  
  
To blame.  
  
He heard her breath hitch in her throat, a small cry escaping from her lips before he didn't hear much at all.  
  
She seemed to have stopped breathing. Her small hand was to her throat and the way she stared at him looked as if he had slapped her again.  
  
His throat felt raw, lined with sandpaper.  
  
God, he thought, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll take it back, I swear, it was Voldemort, it was an evil plot, it was fucking Hitler but please, please, please don't cry.  
  
He didn't think he could take it anymore.  
  
Don't cry, just don't fucking cry…  
  
**  
  
A/N Ok, I thought we were nearing the end, but plot bunnies have taken over my brain so there maybe even more chapters than I originally had imagined. On the other hand my writing skills seemed to have escaped me, ergh, and the full grip of tests is taking hold. Writing essays 24/7 has worn me thin, and as you can see, it reflects on the story.  
  
HOWEVER.  
  
I have the plot all lined out and it WILL be finished. I am determined.  
  
Argh.  
  
Like the Pirates.  
  
-dafnap  
  
To all those who have reviewed all-ready: I love you. No really. I wish to bear the child of each and everyone of you, and I mean that in the nicest way possible.  
  
::grin:: 


	11. Apropos

Title: Curiosity  
  
Rating: R language and sexuality…  
  
Spoilers: Books  
  
Key: Hermoine/Draco mmm…  
  
Summary: Hermoine got her answers, but does she want them? She's hit with immense guilt and Draco tries to be the altruist and draw her back out. Will his efforts be worth it? Will he continue making an effort? Can he get that damn mud blood out his head?  
  
A/N: Screw tests, this is much more fun…As for the story, I noticed while going back and checking on later chapters, that my italicizations aren't translating through, so I'm trying to save it in html this time around, I'll reload later chaps when test are over, in all their italicized glory! As for this chapter, I've added 'Music to Read By' this is stuff that I listen to while I write, or songs that pushed me to write a certain scene, so check 'em out for an added dimension…

_Music to read by:_ _Overfire_ by Beck or Veruca, _guh, this song is so effin tragic…._

**

before

**

"-They were stupid, Hermoine," She looked up at him, trying read into what he was saying, trying to look under the double meaning that weren't there, "They were stupid. Just bloody stupid," He sighed and dug his toe into the ground, and tried to avoid her eyes, "That's why I was at the whooping willows. I wanted to know, Hermoine," He looked up at her, his eyes pleading and open and so goddamn truthful, "I don't know why," His voice turned bitter and he turned away from her gaze, "It's all your bloody fault Granger."

He found that it suddenly became hard to breath...She was looking at him with here big, brown-_somanyfuckingcolors-_eyes that just begged him to take it back and give her something solid to hang on to.

To blame.

He heard her breath hitch in her throat, a small cry escaping from her lips before he didn't hear much at all.

She seemed to have stopped breathing. Her small hand was to her throat and the way she stared at him looked as if he had slapped her again.

His throat felt raw, lined with sandpaper.

_God,_ he thought, _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll take it back, I swear, it was Voldemort, it was an evil plot, it was fucking Hitler but please, please, please don't cry._

He didn't think he could take it anymore.

_Don't cry, just don't fucking cry…_

**

now

**

"_It's all your bloody fault Granger-"_

It all made sense now that she thought about it.

_...All your bloody fault..._

She felt her insides go numb, her small intestine twisted into a knot and she found herself backing away from Draco.

He had the oddest expression on his face, a mixture of regret and concern. She never imagined that she would see such a face on Malfoy.

..._bloody fault..._

Draco held out a hand, as if to catch her but it was too late and she tripped and fell. Her legs tangled in her robes and she found herself scuttling back on the floor until her back connected with the wall.

_...fault..._

Mum and Dad dead. Broken bones. An old nursery rhyme floated up from her the back of her brain: _A simple spell and all will be well, a simple spell and all will be well, a simple spell and all will be well-_

-And then Draco was kneeling in front of her, his hands -_warm and soft_- gently grasping her arms. He was saying something, his lips -_warm and soft-_ were moving and it made her dizzy.

"Hermoine," And he said her name in the funniest way, a low lilt that was unlike anything she ever heard, "Hermoine," He whispered again, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way-"

But she stopped listening. Instead she heard Harry and Ron and the way they said her name, Harry with a tinge of curiosity, Ron with a splash of humor.

And how they looked asleep: peaceful, serene...dead.

_A simple spell and all will be well..._

Mum would say her name in that certain way that brought up images of scrambled eggs and apple juice. Dad would say it with a gruff tone that meant everything but what it sounded like, "Hermoine," He would begin, his voice low and rough, "Come here and give me a hug." He would smile, open his arms and...

_...all will be well..._

She missed them, _oh_ _god_, she missed them so much. This time when the tears came they did not accompany cries. They just fell from the corners of her eyes and she stared just past Draco's shoulder. He was saying things, apologies, regrets, assurances. Little words with no meaning as his hands grasped her arms, gently, so different from before....

But the images of her parents, her father in the coffin, her mother on the bed, gone, looking so much better without the wires and tubes and respirators...these images coalesced and slammed into the back of her eyes and made her ears ring with the oddest sound...drowning out Draco and the words that he tried to use.

_They don't fit him_, she mused as the tears stained her cheeks, _he sounds so...nice_.

The words and the images and everything that was making her head spin suddenly began to fade and she fell back into the present, to Draco's words.

She noticed, now, that she was no longer on the floor. Her head was on Draco's shoulder, nestled between his collarbone and neck; one arm holding her against him, the other below the crook of her knees, bringing her closer.

They were moving down the halls, he was taking her somewhere and for a moment she wondered where. But she stopped wondering when she noticed that his robes, black and rich, were soaked through.

She had been crying, she finally realized, on the shoulder of Draco Malfoy.

If she could have laughed, she would, but the tears continued and she did not have enough breath to laugh.

The urge to push him away, to make him let her go and run was almost too much to fight.

But Draco seemed to have sense this and his arms tightened around her shoulders, "Don't dare," He growled, pulling her even closer.

She let her head drop back down on his shoulder and wondered again, briefly, where he was taking her.

**

When Hermoine had begun to cry, Draco was left with two choices: Slap her again, or try to comfort her and he couldn't bring himself to slap her, so he tried the alternative.

"What's wrong?" He managed to get out, choking on his words.

She didn't answer him, her eyes were blank and brown and she didn't seem to hear anything else he tried to tell her.

She had the most stricken look on her face when he had finally answered her questions. The moment the words had left his mouth, he regretted them with every pureblood drop in his body.

This...this was so much more worse than guilt. At first he knelt beside her, trying to make her look at him so he could continue to explain; so he could _show _her that he hadn't meant what he had said, that it wasn't her fault, that he was just being a stupid git and he didn't know what he had been saying.

And he tried telling her this but she didn't hear him, couldn't hear him, didn't _want_ to hear him.

He realized something, an epiphany that made the hair on his neck stand up on end: she _wanted _the responsibility.

She _wanted_ the guilt.

She _wanted _for it to be all her fault.

The way she looked at him, the mix of horror, pain and acceptance, the way the tears just kept on coming. _If it's my fault_, she was thinking, _than I could have stopped it.._.

He couldn't understand it; nothing clicked as it should. He had been trying to escape responsibility for years, and she was looking at him, practically begging him to tell it was true, that it was all her fault.

He gripped her shoulders, his intent to shake her out of it, to get her to stop crying, to get her to bloody well listen to him.

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

Instead he found himself collecting her in his arms, shifting her weight so that she rested against his shoulder. She didn't seem to notice and this made him only worry more.

"Shh..." Draco found himself whispering as he made his way out into the hall. 

It was only until he was halfway there did he realize where he was going.

_Hermoine's room._

He didn't know why, but he had to get Hermoine to her room.

There was something pathetic about crying on the floor in the hallway. Granger was far from pathetic, Draco realized, he couldn't let her cry her eyes out on the floor.

Granger pushed weakly against his chest, and Draco pulled her closer, "Don't dare," He whispered. She stopped struggling, settling herself back in his arms with a sigh. He hugged her even closer.

_Don't you dare._

**

Hermoine felt herself being lowered onto her bed. The blankets were pulled up to just under chin, and she felt Draco's hand wipe away a stray tear that had not been soaked up by his robe.

She turned her head to look at him; she wanted to say something, anything. She wanted to say that she was sorry but she couldn't find the words.

Draco had pulled up a chair beside her bed, settling himself into the seat. She peeked at him through half-lidded eyes, watching as he tried to make himself comfortable.

There was plenty of shifting before he found a comfortable position. He looked so awkward and if Hermoine wasn't so tired she probably would have giggled. A small smile flitted across her face but she quickly hid it away when she noticed Draco watching her intently.

She couldn't understand why he was doing this but she tried to feign sleep, hoping he would leave and she could cry some more. Crying felt good, she could do crying.

He sighed, shifted again, "I'm not going to leave just yet," He said, as if reading her mind, "Not until you hear me out."

She didn't answer, hoping that she could still pull it off.

Evidently she couldn't because Draco leaned in, resting his head at the edge of the bed beside her face, "Hermoine," He whispered, trying out the feel of her name, "I thought you said you didn't want to play games."

She didn't answer him, just dug her head further into the pillow, "No," She mumbled, like a child, "Done talking. Want to cry."

He sighed with frustration, letting his palm rest gently on the bed, trying his hardest not to lash out. Lashing out was not what was needed right then; it would just lead to more...well...

He felt his throat tighten and he struggled to bring his voice in control, "Grang-Hermoine, listen to me closely,"

"Don't want to." She said again, "Done talking."

The palm that was resting gently above the bed fell down, hitting hard against the bed, "GODDAMNIT!" Draco felt himself lose control, yet he had no desire to get it back.

She wasn't listening to him and it was pissing him off like only one of the Potter Three could. He grabbed hold of her shoulder from underneath the covers, yanking her up until she was looking him the eye, her legs still tangled within the blankets, looking up at him with a mixture of fear and recognition.

This was the Draco Malfoy she knew, the one with the short temper and the violent habits, "Welcome back," She whispered, "Wondered where you went." She avoided his eyes; looking, rather, at the way his hands pressed into her forearms.

Red seeped slowly into Malfoy's vision, "Listen, Granger," His fingers dug even deeper, pulling her even closer until she was flush against him, "I want you to understand something,"

Hermoine felt something in the pit of her stomach, akin to hunger but with a hint of cold...

"And what's that Malfoy?" Her voice was dangerously low, her palms pressed flat against is chest, turning white as she tried to push against him.

His mouth-_warmandsoftandsogoddamnclose-_ was just inches from her own. They were flushed, from anger, from frustration, from...

"Hermoine," And he said her name in such away as she felt herself drawn; watching the way the wrinkles around his eyes moved as he spoke, "Listen to me."

She felt her lips move before she realized what she was saying; the part of her brain responsible for quick comebacks working on its own, "I'm all ears-"

He cut her off, his fingers digging in even harder, "It wasn't your fault."

And she felt herself pulling away, looking into his slate eyes and wondering what she ever saw in them, "You said-"

"_Fuck_ what I said Hermoine," He was able to get out through gritted teeth, "It wasn't your fault."

..._she had to see that._

She tried to pry herself out of his hands, her fingers pushing helplessly around his, "Let go of me-"

And he pulled her closer, his fingers gripping even tighter, his voice in her ear, his hair on her cheek, his breath against her neck, "It wasn't your fault." He whispered again, the movement from the words against the cusp of her ear.

..._had to see that..._

"Let go," She tried again, her voice losing its strength.

His eyes searched her own and she felt something in them break.

..._had to..._

"It wasn't."

And for what seemed like the hundredth time that day she felt her eyes water up as she looked up at him and shook her head, not wanting to believe him, wanting him to be wrong, "No," She began, " Her head shaking vigorously, "You're wrong," She pushed harder on his chest, her fingers finding strength from the tears, "You're wrong." She kept repeating those words until his fingers slackened and she fell back against the bed and all of it came rushing in.

Mum, dad, Harry, Ron, everyone, everything until...

"You're a stupid girl." He whispered, backing away, until he felt the back of his knees hit a chair.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but decided against it as he turned and ran out of the room.

**

What had he been thinking?

What the _fuck_ had he been thinking?

He really wanted to hit something and the only thing he could think of was Hermoine, _GRANGER._

_Granger._

He repeated this over and over and over again...

_Granger, Granger, Granger, Granger._

But the only name that came to mind was Hermoine. He repeated the words 'Granger' and 'mud blood' a thousand times in his head, paired with a mental picture of the infuriating girl. But all he got was the low lilt of her name, and the feeling in the back of his mouth whenever he said Hermoine.

Following what seemed to be the norm, he slammed his fist into the wall, relishing the way pain lanced up his arm.

It cleared his mind and the words 'Granger' and 'Mud blood' finally fell into sync with the way her eyes looked when she was kissing him...

...and -_goddamnit_- he was doing it again.

He heard rather than felt, his fist hitting the wall again.

This time the pain did nothing but remind him of Hermoine.

**

She couldn't remember much after Draco (_Malfoy! Ma-l-foy_) left. Her arms hurt where his fingers had been, ten little grooves dug into her skin.

And she was cold...her arms, covered in her robe, felt prickly, and she shivered.

She could hear him stomping down the hall, and it was the sound of his fist hitting the wall that compelled her to move.

Her knees, entrenched in the blankets that Draco had tucked her in with, became the consistency of jello and she felt herself drop back onto the bed.

She couldn't take her eyes off of the doorway that Draco had disappeared through. If she strained her ears she could still hear his footsteps as he descended down the staircase.

And she felt herself move, felt her fingers straighten out the tangled sheets and felt her hands straighten the throw rub and pick up the chair. She felt her fingers smoothing down her robes and pulling her hair back into the bun at the nape of her neck. It wasn't until she felt her hands scrub her face clean until there were no traces of tears on her cheek that she felt herself fall back into reality.

It wasn't until she was halfway out the door that she realized where she was headed.

**

A/N- Two tests out of four down, two more to go…

Goodness, notice a pattern anyone? Meet-talk-fight-snog/fight some more. Sigh…rut much? Everything is winding down now, so look for this to be finished in two or three more chapters, or heck, one BIG chapter…who knows?!?

In prep for next chapter, why not download _I know_ by Placebo, heavy influence, lemme tell you…

Feed a starving writer today – read and review~!

-dafnap

will write for food…


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